Like Father, Like Son
by obsidiancurrents
Summary: Scorpius wishes his dad would just get it through his head already: he's in love with Albus Potter, and no rivalry between Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter is going to stand in the way of that. In fact, the Potters will be arriving at the Manor for dinner any minute now. DM/HP SM/ASP. Epilogue compliant. COMPLETE.
1. New Mutiny

_Hi all, obsidiancurrents here._

 _After years of reading incredible Draco/Harry fan fiction, I decided to try writing one._

 _Love it? Hate it? Any and all feedback is appreciated!_

* * *

Chapter One: New Mutiny

On a serene English morning, Draco Malfoy lounged luxuriously in a plush green velvet settee in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor. His steel-grey eyes were trained on the pages of an incredibly aged Alchemy book held up to his pale, pointed face by his right hand, while his left arm slung lazily over the back of the seat. The white light of the morning sun shone softly through the tall, magnificent windows, tingeing Draco's white-blond hair with silver. Mouth pursed in concentration, he gently turned a fragile page.

When he presently heard soft footsteps coming from above, he tore his eyes away to witness his wife, Astoria, and son, Scorpius, descending the grand staircase. Astoria's noble features were softly lit by the incoming sunlight as she smiled warmly at him. Scorpius, blond-haired and silver-eyed, was almost a carbon copy of Draco himself; he, however, was not smiling.

"Good morning," Draco greeted pleasantly, sitting up. The calming effect his little family had on his heart continued to baffle him. He marked his page, closed the book, and set it aside on the cushions.

Astoria and Scorpius strode over and deposited themselves into the two lavish armchairs opposite Draco; Astoria did so delicately and with perfect posture, while Scorpius sat heavily, crossed his legs, and began bouncing his foot nervously.

"Good morning, Draco," returned Astoria. For some reason, she seemed to hesitate before she spoke again: "Isn't it nice to have Scorpius home? Done with his sixth year already!"

She beamed over at Scorpius, who returned her smile half-heartedly.

Draco eyed his fidgeting son with concern. "Is there something I should know about?"

Scorpius looked like he'd rather be anywhere else but there at the moment. Astoria cleared her throat.

"Well, yes, in fact there _was_ something Scorpius wanted to tell you. Go ahead, won't you dear?" She touched Scorpius's arm gently.

Draco felt a twinge of anxiety begin to kindle in his stomach. Leaning forward, he watched his son expectantly.

Scorpius clasped his hands on his knee, resignedly sighed, and met Draco's eyes. "Dad," he began apprehensively, "I've, uh...I've met someone, at school."

Draco let out a relieved breath. "Ah, I see. So, that's what this was all about?" He chuckled. "Who is she?"

Scorpius darted an uneasy glance at Astoria, who nodded her encouragement.

"I - well - ah...He's a boy, actually."

Draco's eyebrow shot up. "Oh?" He took a moment to process this. "Well, er, I suppose that's all right, Scorpius..."

"That's not all," Scorpius continued cautiously, glancing at Astoria once more. "It's not just _any_ boy...ah…" A sharp intake of breath. "He's…well, he's a Gryffindor."

Draco's mouth fell open. "A what?! A _Gryffindor_!"

Scorpius, after one more moment's hesitation, seemed to make up his mind to boldly declare his love, his first love, his undying love for the boy whose electric green eyes had arrested him in his tracks from across the Great Hall; the boy whose gentle, quiet, frankly annoyingly idealistic nature had gradually earned Scorpius's adoration; the boy who made him feel like shouting to the whole world, Wizarding and Muggle alike, that -

"Dad, the boy I love is Albus Potter. It's always been Albus Potter."

Long moments ticked by. Astoria looked worriedly between the two. She noted that Draco's mouth remained open in an altogether un-Malfoyian expression of astonishment, his eyes glazed over. Scorpius wondered whether Draco was having a stroke. He made eye contact with his mother, raising his eyebrows.

After a few seconds, Draco seemed to shake himself back to earth. In a voice much more high-pitched than he intended, he croaked, "Albus Potter? As in...the son of Harry Potter?"

"And Ginny Potter, yes."

A look of renewed dread flashed across Draco's features. He didn't know which was worse: the thought of someday having Harry Potter as his son's bloody father-in-law, or the prospect of having to spend holidays with the blasted Weasley family.

Astoria cleared her throat. "Draco, I really think you're overreacting to this. Scorpius can fall in love with whomever he wants. In fact," she went on, "I think this would be a wonderful opportunity to end this ridiculous blood feud against the Weasleys, not to mention address the silly grudge you continue to hold against Harry Potter, a man who's more than once saved your life, mind you."

Draco slowly shook his head in horror. This wasn't happening.

"Anyway, I've already owled to invite Mr. and Mrs. Potter to the Manor for dinner. They'll be coming round with Albus Friday evening."

* * *

In the dining room, Astoria's long rivulets of chestnut hair gently fell forward as she bent to straighten a silver salad fork. "Thank you for setting the table, Hildy." She nodded toward a small figure with spindly limbs, a large head, bat-like ears, and orb-like eyes, who delicately curtsied before Apparating back to the kitchens. Astoria had never approved of her parents' abuse of house elves as a girl; she recalled with gratitude the policy changes enacted by Hermione Granger granting house elves the right to a salary and clothing. Unlike the mistreated house elves of Astoria's youth, Hildy was well paid, properly cared for, and quite content with the Malfoy family.

While she mused over these thoughts, Draco entered the dining room in a huff. Astoria reckoned that, despite the sour look on his face, Draco looked quite debonair, dressed in a white button-up shirt, pressed trousers, and soft black robes. After kissing her distractedly on the cheek, he remarked haughtily, "Of course they would be late. No sense of decorum at all."

"Draco." Astoria's voice was gentle but firm. "I simply cannot comprehend your hostility. It's been years since you and Harry Potter were at Hogwarts together. Why the drawn-out rivalry?"

"It's just - you never knew him, Astoria," Draco whined. "He was always so - so _smug_ , strutting around the castle like he was better than everyone else…"

"Hmm," grunted Astoria. _Sounds like someone I know._

"...Perfect Potter...He was favored by all the teachers, you know. They all thought there was something so _special_ about him."

"Did you ever once actually try to get to know him?" Astoria ventured.

"I - I did, but he - never mind all of that." Draco waved his hand dismissively.

"Draco," Astoria warned. "I'm counting on you to behave yourself at dinner, if only for Scorpius. Just remember what Harry Potter's done for you - for all of us. If it weren't for him, the Dark Lord would still be alive - who knows where you'd be, or where our parents would be. Come to think of it," she went on pointedly, "he testified in favor of you and your mother when your family was on trial for war crimes. He's likely the entire reason you and Narcissa avoided Azkaban."

" _Please_ don't remind me how indebted I am to the Chosen One," Draco returned impatiently. "It only serves to infuriate me more."

Before Astoria could give Draco a proper chiding, they were interrupted by Hildy's sudden entrance. "Mistress Malfoy," she curtsied. "The Masters and Mistress Potter have arrived."

* * *

Astoria, Draco, and Scorpius sat in the drawing room, each anxiously awaiting Hildy's reentrance with the Potters. Scorpius's foot was bouncing again; he was evidently struggling to suppress a nervous grin. Draco pouted on the settee, chin resting on his fist, a dark look shading his eyes. Astoria's face was calm and impassive, although her tense back and shoulders belied her apparently tranquil manner.

Finally Hildy shuffled in, the new arrivals in tow. The Malfoys jumped to their feet. Hildy cleared her throat.

"Mistress Ginevra Potter, Master Albus Potter, and Master Harry Potter."

Draco did a quick scan of these three intruders; there was Ginny Weasley, red hair aflame as always, threaded into a simple plait. Wearing a mildly amused expression on her lightly freckled face, she casually surveyed the vaulted ceiling, magnificent windows, and opulent furniture of the drawing room before resting her eyes on the Malfoys themselves. Her son's looks were as close to Harry's as Scorpius's were to Draco's, down to the unruly, jet-black hair. Unlike Ginny's, Albus's eyes were riveted to only one spot in the room: the place where Scorpius stood. In turn, Scorpius absolutely beamed at the other boy, who promptly reddened.

And then, of course, there was the man whose mere existence had tormented Draco for years. Harry Potter, the Complete Tosser Who Lived, stood upright with his hands clasped behind his back like a soldier, calmly glancing around the room with slightly knitted eyebrows, perhaps remembering certain events that had occurred here. Draco groaned inwardly when he noted that the prat's looks had only become more dashing over the years; his untidy dark hair was combed back to the best of his abilities, and the glasses delicately perched on his regal nose gave him an intellectual air. Ha, like Potter could even recite a simple shrinking potion recipe, Draco silently mocked. Distracted by his musings, Draco was suddenly seized with panic when Harry's piercing emerald eyes made sharp contact with his, as if he'd been reading Draco's mind. Draco felt his heart begin to pound; thank Merlin he wasn't one to blush.

"Ah - hello," Astoria greeted awkwardly, her eyes flickering between each Potter before settling on Ginny. "So glad to meet you all. You must be Ginevra."

Ginny stepped forward, closing the distance between the Potters and the Malfoys, and took Astoria's hand good-naturedly. "Please, call me Ginny. And you're Astoria - I've heard so much about you from Scorpius. Thanks for the invitation."

"It's a pleasure," Astoria returned warmly, her discomfort beginning to melt away. "And of course, you must be the Albus my Scorpius goes on about." Albus blushed even redder, smiling shyly and taking Astoria's hand. "Charmed. And Harry Potter, so glad to meet you."

For some reason, Harry's disarmingly friendly expression as he took Astoria's hand made Draco long to hex him. "Nice to meet you, Astoria. It's been ages since I saw you round the corridors at Hogwarts - your sister Daphne was in my year, you know."

Harry's eyes slowly wandered over to Draco again. Draco stood frozen, unsure of what to do.

"Malf - er, Draco. How have you been?" Harry's hand extended awkwardly in Draco's direction. Draco stared at it, one haughty eyebrow raised. Astoria glanced anxiously between the two men, silently willing Draco to just get over himself already.

Finally, Draco quickly picked up Harry's hand, pumped it once, and dropped his arm back to his side with a wordless nod. Harry cleared his throat awkwardly.

Scorpius spoke up. "Dad," he began, boldly stepping forward and entwining hands with Albus. "This is Albus, my boyfriend."

Draco blinked as he beheld his son hand-in-hand with a Harry Potter look-alike, his flaring grey eyes held steadily on Draco's, as if daring him to protest.

"Draco…" Astoria prompted softly as the tension grew.

"What? Mm, yes. Pleasure to meet you, Albus." Draco tried to calm down as he extended his hand to the black-haired boy. Albus shook it with an air of triumph, a cautious smile breaking out on his face.

"Well then," Astoria exhaled. "Please sit down; Hildy will have dinner ready in just a few moments."

* * *

It felt to Draco like Hildy would never announce dinner as he sat stiffly in the drawing room, gazing at each person in turn; Astoria and Ginny seemed to be getting on well, making pleasant conversation. Draco knew that Astoria had long ago rejected her family's prejudice against Muggles, Muggleborns, and blood traitors, but he was still surprised to see how easily she got on with someone like Ginny Weasley. His eyes shifted to Scorpius and Albus, sitting near each other on the settee, listening to Astoria's and Ginny's conversation. At one point, Albus's gaze slowly lifted to examine Scorpius's face in something like wonderment. Scorpius caught him staring and smirked at him, waggling his eyebrows devilishly; Albus tried to suppress a grin as he looked away. Draco was floored, not only because he'd never seen Scorpius so - so _besotted_ before - but because of how damn similar Scorpius and Albus looked to he and Harry; he felt as if he were staring at a portrait of Harry and himself, lovingly gazing into each other's eyes. Horrified, Draco tore his attention away - and accidentally made direct eye contact with Harry, who happened to glance up at the same time. Draco's heart skipped a beat; thinking quickly, he shot Harry a dirty look. Harry's eyebrows drew together in a slight scowl; he broke eye contact. Swallowing, Draco wondered if Harry had been thinking the same thing about the two boys.

"Masters and Mistresses, dinner is served."

On Hildy's announcement, Draco shot up and almost ran into the dining room; the others followed. As they lowered themselves into their seats, their plates and glasses suddenly filled with a delectable-looking meal and fine wine.

After they'd tucked in, Astoria daintily patted her lips with a silken napkin. "So, tell me, Ginny," she said, a little warm from the wine. "How did you and Harry meet?"

 _Oh Merlin, spare me,_ Draco thought with a mental eye roll.

Ginny chuckled. "Well, we met when I was ten, actually," she began. "At King's Cross. It's a bit embarrassing, but I developed a crush on him rather quickly."

Harry laughed, touching Ginny's arm in an almost careless yet incredibly loving way - Draco scowled. "But she got over it pretty quickly, too," Harry cut in. "Took me ages to win her over again."

Ginny rolled her eyes and looked conspiringly at Astoria. "You know how men are."

Astoria nodded wisely. "Oh yes - always wanting what they can't have."

The two women shared a laugh. Draco shifted uncomfortably, not daring a glance at Harry.

"And how did you and Draco meet?" Ginny queried as she took another sip of wine.

Astoria smiled and turned her head to gaze at Draco affectionately. He gave her a weak smile in return. "Funnily enough, we met in France," she replied. "After Hogwarts, I wanted to travel - see the rest of Europe and other parts of the world. I met Draco while he was doing his thesis on the transmutation of base metals into silver."

Harry shot Draco a look. "You were doing advanced studies?"

Draco sneered. "Why, yes I was, Potter. Is that surprising somehow?"

"Draco," Astoria warned. A momentary scowl flashed across Harry's face, but then he did something unexpected - he heartily laughed.

"It's all right, Astoria," he assured her. "As I'm sure you know, Draco and I had somewhat of a rivalry in our school days. It's all in good fun."

Draco was shocked at this description. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"Er," ventured Albus, "so how did _you_ two meet? Ow!"

Scorpius had kicked him under the table.

"We met on the Hogwarts Express, I think," Harry answered uncertainly, digging back into his memory. "Draco was making some comments about my friend Ron that I quite frankly didn't appreciate…"

Ginny could hardly restrain a glare in Draco's direction.

"Actually, you're wrong," Draco contradicted. "We met at Madam Malkin's, while we were being measured for our school robes."

"Oh yeah…" Harry trailed off.

"Um," Scorpius chimed in. He thought he'd better cut this conversation short before it got ugly. "Albus and I met during potions class. We were partnered up."

"Oh, is that right?" Draco's posture straightened. "Scorpius has a natural gift for potions," he informed the table proudly. "Gets it from his father."

Harry muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "...only because Snape favored you…"

Albus's ears perked up at the mention of his namesake.

"Right, Potter, keep telling yourself that," Draco rejoined, his nostrils flaring. "Slytherins just happen to be a bit more talented in potions; probably thought Albus needed a tutor, being a Gryffindor and all - "

"Oh yes," Harry retorted angrily, "because I seem to recall a certain Slytherin earning his marks on his God-given _talent_ , never _dreaming_ of cheating…"

"I didn't bloody cheat, Potter," Draco spat. "I used my resources wisely, as Gryffindors are apparently too self-righteous to have the sense to do - "

"DRACO." Astoria was absolutely fuming. "I think Hildy requires help clearing the dishes, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, Harry." Ginny crossed her arms with a dark look. "I think you'd better help, too."

With one last glare at Draco, Harry pushed his chair back forcefully as he rose. He grabbed a handful of dishes in each fist before stomping towards the doors that led into the kitchens. Draco fought the urge to look smug as he gracefully rose, cast a Levitation Charm on the remaining dishes, and hovered them through the kitchen doors. Astoria and Ginny exchanged apologetic looks and Albus's face burned while Scorpius placed both elbows on the table, shielded his eyes with his hands, and sighed exasperatedly.

* * *

Draco guided the dishes over to where Hildy was working in the kitchen and touched them gracefully down onto the counter. He scanned the room for Harry. Where had the git run off to?

Following a strange hissing noise to the back of the kitchens, he stopped in his tracks when he witnessed Harry bent over a disused sink in the far corner, his back turned to Draco. He was running water from the hissing faucet over the dishes and scrubbing them furiously with a soapy rag. Draco crept up to stand a few meters behind him, clasped his hands behind his back, and cocked his head.

"What in the world are you doing?" Draco couldn't help but ask. He'd never seen a ritual like this in all his years.

"What does it look like?" Harry mumbled. "I'm washing the dishes."

"Washing the dishes?" Then it dawned on him. "Ooh, I see. Potter, you do realize that Hildy can have those dishes clean in a snap of her fingers?"

Harry's bizarre activities slowed, then halted. He looked over his shoulder at Draco grudgingly. "Oh...oh yeah."

"What is this, some sort of Muggle thing?" The corners of Draco's mouth twitched.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry snapped. He snatched up a dry towel and started to dry his hands. "I mean...yes. It is."

Draco was dangerously close to smiling, but his face quickly straightened out as Harry spun to face him, pinning him with a look that signaled confusion, annoyance, and disbelief.

"Why do you have to do it, Malfoy?" he demanded. "We haven't spoken for years, yet you _still_ delight in getting a rise out of me."

Draco's body warmed. He felt excited, alive. Potter's full attention was riveted on him - it was quite...exhilarating. Ensuring that his expression betrayed nothing, Draco offered a nonchalant shrug.

Harry sighed and shook his head, the anger melting from his face. "We ought to apologize to Scorpius and Al. They're really keen on each other, you know."

Draco scanned Harry's face with the calm of an analyst. In it he could see the boy who had coldly rejected him on the Hogwarts Express; he could also picture Harry's face, disfigured from a hex, when the snatchers had dragged him to Malfoy Manor, and he remembered how those unmistakable emerald eyes had penetrated Draco's, obliterating the last traces of Draco's former allegiance to the Dark Lord; and, finally, he could see the man who had boldly faced Voldemort, who had once made his life a living hell - and had beaten him.

"Well, Potter," he suddenly said after a long, uncertain silence. "How about a truce?"

"A truce?" Harry eyed him suspiciously. "Draco Malfoy, offer me a truce?"

Draco fought the urge to lick his lips - that skeptical expression suited Harry quite well, not to mention Draco's name on those lips -

 _Oh Merlin, no,_ Draco silently panicked. _I don't - ugh - I killed those unthinkable feelings years ago - He's a stupid, arrogant git - not in the least bit attractive -_

Harry's expression changed to one of puzzlement. It was his turn to cock his head. "Everything all right, Malfoy?"

"Ah, yes," Draco coughed. "A truce then. Good. Shall we be on with it?"

And with that, he turned on his heel and marched purposefully toward the doors that led back into the dining room, Harry staring blankly after him.

* * *

"Forgive me for how I behaved tonight, Scorpius," Draco apologized softly. The Potters had departed, and Astoria had retired to her bedroom for the night. Draco and Scorpius sat in the drawing room, facing one another, Scorpius with his arms crossed and face turned angrily away. "It's just - there's a lot you don't know of my...history...with Harry Potter. But that doesn't excuse how I acted."

He waited. After a few moments, Scorpius turned his head to meet his father's eye. When he saw the genuine remorse on Draco's face, his expression softened. Draco didn't often admit when he was wrong.

"I appreciate that, Dad." He hesitated. "Just to be sure, you're not so much against Albus personally, right? Just that he's a Gryffindor?"

"And a Potter and a Weasley," Draco added darkly. Then he caught himself. "Right - it may take me a while to become used to this. I hope you'll understand."

Scorpius chuckled a bit and uncrossed his arms. "That's all right, Dad. Actually, I find it a bit compelling, really, Al and I caught between two warring families, and two rival Houses. It's like _Romeo and Juliet_...er, if Romeo had fancied Tibalt or someone, that is..."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Since when are they teaching Muggle literature at Hogwarts?"

Scorpius rolled his eyes. "Since years ago, Dad. Honestly, you should catch up with the times. Things have changed." He winked, arose, and started for the staircase. "'Night, Dad."

 _Yes,_ mused Draco, as he watched his son ascend until he disappeared upstairs. _Some things have changed._

 _But then again, some things refuse to._


	2. You Know You Want To

_Hi all, obsidiancurrents at your service._

 _Many thanks to my readers and reviewers! You've_ _inspired me to extend this little fic. No telling how many chapters there'll be; we'll have to wait and see._

 _As always_ _, feedback is greatly appreciated._

* * *

Chapter Two: You Know You Want To

"Watch it, Lily!"

Lily Luna Potter veered her broomstick hard to the right as a heavy ball whizzed past her head, just bypassing her left ear.

"Bloody hell!" she cried, quickly recovering her balance. "Are you trying to kill me?!" Glaring at her brother James, she blew strands of auburn hair out of her flushed face in a resentful huff.

James, skidding his own broom to a halt a few meters away from her, was seized by a fit of laughter. "And just where did you learn such unsavory language, little sis?"

"Where do you think?" Albus couldn't help but chuckle along as he cautiously dropped down to hover beside his sister. "From you, you git."

It was a cloudless Saturday morning, and the Potter siblings were flying about the grassy field that surrounded their home. As James was the only one old enough to use magic outside of Hogwarts, he'd bewitched the ball to fly on its own - a bit overzealously, as it turned out.

Albus nodded toward his sister. "That was quite a dodge, Lil."

"Indeed it was," James called as he launched into an intricate loop de loop. "I reckon you'd have a shot at making the Gryffindor team if you fancied trying out. What d'ya say, Lil? You could try out for beater and continue my legacy of smashing those slimy Slytherins to smithereens."

"Quit showing off." Lily crossed her arms with a pout on her lips, all the while proving his point by balancing expertly on her broom.

"And speaking of slimy Slytherins…" James broke from his maneuver and hung in the air, facing Albus. "How did it go at Malfoy Manor? Mum and Dad refrain from hexing those pure-blood prats?"

"Bugger off, you twit." Albus punched his brother's arm playfully, nearly losing his balance in the process - he was the only Potter child _not_ to have inherited their parents' superhuman grace on a broomstick, it seemed. "Mum and Dad were mannerly enough. Scorpius's mum was excellent as well. But then..." Puzzlement wrinkled his eyebrows. "Scorpius's father was behaving rather strangely, to be honest. Actually, he strikes me as a bit of a - "

* * *

" - wanker. Always was, always will be." Ginny shrugged. "This is _Malfoy_ we're talking about, remember? Now, how he managed to dupe a posh bird like Astoria into marrying him - there's the _real_ mystery." Her bright brown eyes flicked over the front page of the Daily Prophet; she took a sip from her cup of tea before setting it back down on the table. She was seated in the kitchen of the Potter's modest but elegant two-story home, which they'd built about four kilometers from the Burrow after Lily was born. Although Ginny was fond of it now, the house was something she'd had to get used to; its clean lines and sophisticated furnishings stood in stark contrast to the jumbled clutter of her childhood home. As she scanned the headlines, she cocked her ear and heard the tinkling laughter and distant shouts of her children breezing in through the open kitchen window.

"Still, it just doesn't make sense." Harry's voice was edged with vexation. Shaking his head, he flipped an egg with his wand and watched it sizzle against the frying pan. "You'd think my testifying at his Death Eater trial would've been enough to ensure a no-fire zone between us, if not redeem me in his eyes completely."

"Like I said - wanker," Ginny repeated dismissively, flipping a page.

But Harry continued to wear a faint scowl as he upturned another egg, pushed the bacon around in its pan, and buttered a few slices of toast. Of course Ginny was right - if anyone deserved the "wanker" label, it was Draco Malfoy. But still - something had been off about Malfoy's behavior, and it nagged Harry that he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"Oh, I meant to let you know," Ginny piped up again, laying the Daily Prophet flat. "There's a Harpies against Falcons game next week I have to attend for work. Why don't you come along and take the children? And Hermione, Ron, Rose, and Hugo should come, of course."

"Mmm, yes," Harry replied distractedly. With his wand, he threw the cabinet wide and levitated five plates down to the counter, proceeding to load each one with breakfast food.

Ginny slowly knitted her eyebrows and stared at the back of Harry's head. What was he on about? Why give a second thought to a prat like Malfoy? "Tell you what, Harry, since you're so brassed up about it: I'll ask Albus to invite Scorpius and his parents along for the game. Maybe you can try and make amends with Malfoy then - if it's so important to you," she added under her breath, snatching the Prophet back up.

Harry turned to blink at Ginny, the five plates floating around him. "Sorry Gin - er - that's a brilliant idea." He landed the plates on the table, followed shortly by forks, knives, napkins, and glasses of orange juice. Relaxing up against the counter, he savored the image of his wife of twenty-one years, scarlet hair shining golden in the sunlight, seated at a table set for five. It was the picture of domestic bliss. Sure, life wasn't quite so _eventful_ as it once was, but Harry was filled with gratitude nonetheless. The Dursleys' neglect and cruelty had instilled in him a desperate longing for a stable, loving family; between the Weasleys and his children, that wish had been granted many times over.

"I'll call the kids in for breakfast," he announced tranquilly, kissing Ginny swiftly on the cheek.

* * *

That night, Albus sighed as he sank into his pillows, shutting the book that his cousin Rose had lent him ( _Muggles Who Notice_ , by Blenheim Stalk) and laying it on his bedside table. After extinguishing the lamp, he rolled over and let his heavy eyelids gradually close.

Just as he'd begun to drift off, he was summoned back to consciousness by a faint tapping noise. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up and pressed his bare feet against the cool wooden floorboards. He cast a bleary-eyed glance around his bedroom, but beheld nothing of note.

He was about to chalk the sound up to his imagination and fall back into bed when he heard the tapping again, a bit louder this time, coming from the direction of his curtained window.

Although it was likely just an owl, his heart skipped a beat as he swiftly crossed the wooden floor and threw the curtains open. His gaze alighted on a pair of iron-grey eyes along with a pale, angular face and a devilish smirk that could only be Scorpius Malfoy's.

An involuntary grin broke over Albus's face as he heaved the window open. "Scorpius, what are you - ?" he began, but the other boy swiftly grabbed a handful of his shaggy black hair, pulled their faces close together, and firmly planted his lips against Albus's. Albus gasped shortly in surprise, feeling his whole body blush as the other boy held him captive.

Scorpius soon pulled roughly away, fingers still tangled in Albus's hair, and Albus perceived in a daze that he was hovering on a broom, two stories above the ground. "Scorpius," he tried again, voice hoarse and lips bruised. "Do your parents know you're here?"

"Nope, it's far too late." Scorpius grinned rakishly. "You're sneaking out with me."

Seeing Albus's hesitation, Scorpius flirtatiously laid the back of his hand against his boyfriend's face and coaxed him with a gentle stroke, running his thumb over his lips. "Come on, Al," he softly commanded, eyes glinting. "You know you want to."

"You prick," Albus returned, but he couldn't suppress a smile. Of course he would do it. He wasn't normally one to act rebelliously, but all respect for the rules seemed to evaporate when Scorpius was near. Although Albus struggled not to show it, the other boy held the power to cloud his mind, intoxicate him, and bend him to his will. "Let me get changed," Albus conceded with an eye roll.

"Of course." Scorpius lifted an eyebrow, folding his arms on the windowsill. "Mind if I watch?"

* * *

A few moments later, Albus clung to Scorpius for dear life as his broom sliced through the night air, swerving and zig-zagging against the sky. Albus's pulse pounded, either due to the exhilarating, clandestine broom ride or the fact that he was pressed so indecently close to his dashing abductor. Scorpius pitched the broom high into the air, hovering for a moment to enjoy the view before plunging back down through the darkness.

After a bit, they landed in a field sparsely scattered with old willow trees. In adrenaline-fueled fits of laughter, they clutched their sides as they rolled off the broom and into the dewy grass. Albus landed on his back; Scorpius propped himself up so that he could look at him.

"Merlin, Scorpius," Albus gasped between bouts of laughter. "I suspect you're out to make me as bad as yourself."

Scorpius fixed his eyes on Albus's, his laughter subsiding. "Maybe," Scorpius answered, his mischievous smile returning. "But then again, perhaps I'm only unleashing something that's been there all along." His gaze swept lazily over Albus's face. As he noted the flush in Albus's cheeks, he was filled with a smugness knowing that he'd put it there. He promptly swung a leg over the boy's body, sunk his knees into the damp earth, and pressed his palms against the cool grass on either side of Albus's head. He watched the movement of Albus's Adam's apple as he slowly swallowed, jade eyes staring up at him. In a fluid motion, Scorpius raised his hands from the grass and snaked them up Albus's arms, finally pinning the boy's hands above his head.

Albus squirmed beneath him. "You wanker."

"You'd do well to watch your mouth," Scorpius warned sweetly. Seeing Albus bite his lip made him growl softly; the next minute, he had his mouth locked in a firm, unrelenting kiss. When he finally broke away, he noted with satisfaction that Albus was struggling to regain his breath.

"Now," Scorpius continued playfully, "I'll give you a chance to escape your fate. Admit it - you _like_ being corrupted."

Albus laughed softly and defiantly locked his eyes onto Scorpius's. "We Gryffindors are incorruptible," he quipped. "A slimy _Slytherin_ wouldn't understand."

Before Albus knew it, Scorpius had hoisted him to his feet and shoved him against the trunk of a nearby willow. A tiny groan of pain escaped his throat as Scorpius pressed him hard against the ragged bark, encircling his wrists with his fingers and securing them tightly at his sides. Feeling Scorpius's hot breath on his neck as he grazed the skin with his lips, Albus silently cursed him as he shivered involuntarily. Soon Scorpius's mouth was a mere centimeter away from his; Albus leaned forward to catch him in a kiss, but Scorpius playfully pulled back, just out of his reach. With a frustrated grunt, Albus tried to escape, but Scorpius held him firmly.

"Beg for it, Gryffindor," Scorpius murmured. He licked his lips slowly, almost touched them to Albus's - and pulled away again, prompting another frustrated growl.

"Fine, you prat," Albus muttered. "I - I beg you."

"What was that, Albus? I didn't quite hear you." Scorpius grinned and turned his ear toward Albus while shoving him harder against the willow.

"I _said_ ," Albus gasped, "I bloody beg you to kiss me."

And with that, Scorpius captured Albus's mouth in a bruising kiss; Albus's mind went blurry as he eagerly returned it. In a moment of weakness, Scorpius loosened his grip on Albus's wrists, and Albus seized the chance to break free and wrap his arms around him, pulling his body tightly against his. Scorpius grunted and grabbed the other boy's face, interrupting the kiss to bite his neck, forcing small, stifled groans. Their lips locked again - nothing else existed.

* * *

Scorpius lounged in the grass with one arm wrapped loosely around Albus's shoulders. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the tree trunk, enjoying the post-snog euphoria. Albus's head lied against his neck, his eyes also shut.

"That's what you get when you provoke a Slytherin," Scorpius muttered.

Albus chuckled. "Come off it, Malfoy." He hesitated before voicing something that had been on his mind. "Scorpius - did your father - dislike me?"

"No," Scorpius answered simply, eyes still closed. "He just loathes your dad."

"Yeah." Albus pondered this. "I wonder what all the hostility is about. You'd think enough years had gone by to snuff out a petty rivalry."

"I think there's something we're not quite understanding about their history," Scorpius drawled sleepily, echoing what his father had told him after dinner. "I haven't the faintest clue."

Albus gazed up through the softly rustling willow branches and into the soft black sky strewn with a billion pinpricks of light. "Oh yeah - my mum wanted me to invite you and your parents to the Harpies match next Friday," he remembered.

Scorpius chuckled. "Ah yes, superb idea. Let's throw the mortal enemies back together."

"You never know," insisted Albus. "They could get on. We just might have to get them sloshed first is all."

Albus's ears were filled with rich, surprised laughter. "I think that's a wonderful plan," Scorpius chortled. "My Slytherin ways are _definitely_ rubbing off on you, kid."


	3. Old Faces

_A very grateful obsidiancurrents here with the latest installment of this tale, which is planned to span approximately ten chapters of varying lengths. Enjoy!_

* * *

Chapter Three: Old Faces

Astoria smiled into the mirror like a schoolgirl with a delightful secret, turning to the side as she examined the dark green ribbon tied into her chestnut locks and smoothed her dress (dark green with gold trim - the official colors of the Holyhead Harpies). A glance at the clock made her purse her lips. She lifted her wand from the vanity table, touched the tip to her throat, and cast an Amplifying Charm.

"Draco, unstick yourself from your books and come upstairs, please. It's nearly time to leave." Her sonorous voice echoed through the Manor, reaching Draco's study.

Astoria sat in front of her vanity mirror and began adjusting her hair ribbon with delicate fingers, soon perceiving what sounded like stomping on the stairwell. Shortly the bedroom door swung open, announcing her husband's arrival. She coolly examined his disgruntled-looking pointed face, noting depressions on the bridge of his nose where his reading glasses had rested.

"Astoria," Draco sighed with a long-suffering look. "I really have _quite_ a lot of work to do. If you didn't insist on positively _dragging_ me to this outing with the Potters and the - " - he paused for dramatic effect - " - and the _Weasleys,_ there's a chance I may _possibly_ finish it - "

"Oh, come off it, Draco." Astoria swiveled back around to face the mirror, mentally waving away her husband's protestations. "It won't kill you, right? And you adore Quidditch... Did you know Ginny Potter is a retired Harpy herself?" she added, using her wand to remove a stray brow hair.

"Yes, of _course_ I know that," Draco grumbled, dragging himself over to her chair and meeting her eyes in the mirror. As she started applying a bit of rouge, Draco's eyelids lowered suspiciously. "Hang on - _you_ don't adore Quidditch. I've never seen you this enthusiastic about a Quidditch game."

"Oh, Draco," Astoria sighed, carrying on with her cosmetic activities. "What do you want me to say? Our pure-blood friends are dull - there. If I don't get more interesting company soon, I'm going to die of boredom."

Perturbed wrinkles rippled Draco's forehead. Astoria turned to him, reminding herself to be patient.

"If you're not going to be civil to Albus's family for your son, do so for me, yes? Ginny and Harry are charming - don't give me that look, you know they are - and I'm quite keen to meet Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley as well. Besides, I won't allow you to stay holed up in that study any longer. Come to think of it, you _have_ been spending more time in there over the past few days - is anything the matter?"

Draco was averting his gaze and shifting his weight uncomfortably when Scorpius materialized in the doorway. "We ready to go?" he asked cheerfully. "Albus and the Potters are already on their way."

Draco sighed in frustration, shooting Scorpius with a look reminiscent of a caged animal. "Why _?_ " he groaned. "Why did you have to choose _Albus Potter?_ Of all people!"

Scorpius decided to ignore the possibility that this was a rhetorical question. Instead he rubbed his chin and gazed pensively into space before seriously answering: "I suppose I have a sort of grudging curiosity - admiration, even - towards someone who, despite all of the greed and hatefulness in the world, nevertheless strives to do the right thing always. Besides," he laughed, shaking himself from his reverie. "With those exquisite green eyes, who could resist?" But his chuckling withered and died when he noticed Draco's expression, which was that of a man who'd just been informed that his son was pregnant with the spawn of Lord Voldemort.

"All right then," Astoria piped up cheerfully. "Ready."

* * *

Albus craned his neck as his abovementioned exquisite green eyes scanned the boisterous crowd looming behind him in the Harpies section of the Quidditch stands, searching for a head of white-blond hair. He and his siblings, parents, aunt, uncle, and cousins were seated in the front two rows, excitedly chattering amongst themselves in anticipation of the game. Considering Ginny's status as an ex-Harpy turned Daily Prophet Quidditch reporter (not to mention the high proportion of war heroes comprising the group), they could have requested the Top Box, but Ginny wanted to be near enough to communicate with the Harpies coach throughout the match. In fact, she was animatedly interviewing her on the sidelines of the grassy pitch right now, her enchanted quill furiously jotting notes on a floating parchment.

"Al..."

Albus spun around to face his uncle Ron, raven eyebrows elevated. Ron's daughter Rose had briefed Albus about Ron's reaction to the news that he and Scorpius were an item; apparently he'd just sort of gone white in the face and sputtered nonsense. "But don't worry," she'd assured Albus. "His relief that _I'm_ not the one snogging a Malfoy outweighed the shock. You know how daffy he went that time I let slip that I was even friendly with Scorpius. He thought me a traitor!"

"Uh..." Ron continued, anxiously rubbing his scarlet beard with a freckled hand. "So...you're really with this Scorpius lad? And his parents - they are in fact - on their way here? Rosie told me that, but she may have been joking...ha. In fact, never you mind. I'm certain she was joking..."

"No, Uncle Ron. I really _am_ with Scorpius, and his family _is_ coming," Albus said with as much confidence as he could summon, but his cheeks were flaming.

Crimson rushed to Ron's face as well. "I - uh - ah - "

"There's the sputtering again," Rose whispered to Albus, mouth shielded from Ron's view by her cupped hand.

Hermione, Harry, Lily, and Hugo had glanced up from their respective chats to follow this exchange. Hermione presently sighed and touched Ron's hand with her own.

"We haven't seen Draco Malfoy in years, Ronald. He's surely lost some of his bite. Although from Harry's recount of that dinner party, perhaps not much..."

"Draco Malfoy will never change," Ron said darkly, memory after memory springing into his thoughts. "He'll always be a right bloody - "

Hermione shushed him, but Albus had already returned his attention to the crowd. At long last, he found what he'd been searching for: Scorpius and his parents were carefully navigating the stands, making their way to where the Potters and Weasleys were seated. Scorpius glanced up and made eye contact; Albus cursed himself that his boyfriend's sudden gaze could make his breath catch like that. When the Malfoys drew near enough, Albus stood and clasped Scorpius into an embrace, smiling shyly up at his boyfriend's parents, one dressed in Harpies colors and the other dressed all in black. _In protest?_ he wondered bitterly. Astoria smiled back at him before glancing around cheerfully at the other members of the group; Draco directed a stiff nod his way, but his attention was apparently caught by something over Albus's shoulder.

Slowly, Albus felt tension constrict the air around him as he broke away from Scorpius and examined the reactions on each face. Lily, Hugo, and Rose stared at the Malfoys quizzically; James's eyes leisurely glanced around and he drank in everyone's expressions with an amused air; Hermione gazed at the Malfoys with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension; and Ron - well, Ron's cheeks and ears were glowing like a red-hot iron brand as he glared directly into Malfoy's icey grey eyes with such a look of deep, compounded hatred that some bystanders even rubbernecked.

Draco looked unsure at first, then straightened and defiantly held Ron's gaze, his face working. He seemed to be fighting against himself. "Hello, Weasley," he finally drawled.

The tension stretched tight, threatening to snap. A soft cough was heard; Hermione settled her hand on Ron's shoulder as she addressed Draco, voice strained with the attempt at self-possession. "Hello, Draco," she said levelly, pointedly using Draco's first name. "It's been - a long time." Her bright brown eyes returned to her husband's contemptuous face. "Right, Ronald? _Quite_ a long time."

And with that she reached past Harry, who had been watching the scene unfold with a morbid curiosity, and offered Draco her outstretched hand. After a bout of uncontrollable blinking, Draco took it weakly in a handshake. "Yes - hello..." He appeared to be struggling.

Hermione ignored Draco's apparent hesitation to say her first name and turned her attention to Astoria. "Pleasure to meet you. You must be Draco's wife."

Astoria wore a disarming smile as she took Hermione's hand. "Astoria Malfoy. Actually," she added demurely, "I'm an avid admirer of your work at the Ministry, namely the house-elf legislation you managed to push through."

Relieved that the tension was beginning to evaporate, Hermione beamed at her gratefully. She turned to the two teenagers sitting in front of her, both with bushy hair and cerulean eyes. "These are our children, Hugo and Rose. Rose is in Scorpius's year."

As Astoria and Draco were introduced to James and Lily as well, Albus began to breathe easily again, exchanging a relieved chuckle with Scorpius. The rage on Ron's face gradually melted into brooding as he sat heavily back against his seat with tightly crossed arms.

During the introductions and reintroductions, Harry couldn't help noticing that Draco hadn't cast one glance in Harry's direction. "Hello, Draco," he finally said with just a touch of irritation. Draco met Harry's eye and nodded at him curtly. Harry slowly nodded back. Draco then settled into his seat, facing forward with a grave expression. His lips tightened as he glimpsed the joining of Scorpius's and Albus's hands as they seated themselves in front of him.

"All right there, mate?" James called to Scorpius from a few seats over. "Not getting Albus into trouble with any nasty Slytherin schemes, are you?"

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it, James," Scorpius replied with mock innocence, batting his pale eyelashes. He laughed as he reached over to shake James's hand. "Haven't seen you in a while, mate."

Draco, thoroughly befuddled, furtively watched (but failed to process) this exchange. What happened to good old-fashioned House rivalry? Well, perhaps Scorpius was merely being polite to Harry's other children, but surely he wasn't friends with the Weasley-haired Hermione look-alike -

"How've you been, Scorpius?" Rose pushed her flyaway scarlet hair from her eyes as she knocked Scorpius lightly on the shoulder, grinning. "Still reeling from your sound defeat during finals?"

Scorpius laughed villainously. "Oh, Weasley, I'd say that's a bit unfair; you only beat me by one Outstanding mark. More of a draw if you ask me. But I wager I'll earn more O's on my N.E.W.T.s next year than you."

Ron gaped at this horrifying banter between his beloved daughter and the boy who was supposed to have been her bitter enemy. "Rosie," he started, speaking for the first time since the Malfoys had arrived. " _You're_ the best in your year, aren't you?"

"Oh yes, in most of my subjects," she informed her father, twisting in her seat to look indifferently back at him. "But Scorpius's attempts to overthrow me are relentless." She turned back to Scorpius just in time to miss the rapid return of Ron's blush and lowered her voice. "But seriously, I can't stand the fact that you're better than me in D.A.D.A. - will you give me lessons over the summer? And I'll continue to tutor you in Potions, of course."

Scorpius winced, index finger flying to his lips and eyes darting sideways toward his father. But it was no use; Draco had caught every word, and his already rather disturbed look deepened as he cleared his throat and stared straight ahead at the Quidditch pitch. Scorpius felt his face warm.

Rose realized her mistake and opened her mouth to speak, but they were interrupted by a sudden booming melody that signaled the beginning of the match.

* * *

At sunset, fans spilled out of the stands and into the green fields surrounding the stadium, Disapparating or looking around for Portkeys. It had been a lengthy game, finally ending with the Harpies seeker's brilliant capture of the snitch almost directly from the Falcons seeker's fingers, and Harpies fans were in high spirits to say the least.

Draco felt dazed. He'd found it difficult to concentrate on the match; he'd been repeatedly distracted by observations of his son getting on so well with the Potter and Weasley progeny. It was unfathomable: Scorpius and his would-be rivals had been laughing and joking around like - like - like _mates._ He had also been surprised by the tender care visible on Scorpius's face when Lily had vomited on James's lap toward the end of the game - presumably from stuffing herself too full of stadium snacks - prompting James to take her home early. Shaking his head in disbelief, he accidentally made eye contact with Harry for the first time since the Malfoys had arrived at their seats; he had refused to turn his head a mere centimeter in Harry's direction during the entire match. He broke from Harry's quizzical gaze almost as soon as he'd caught it. Harry rolled his eyes before returning his attention to the rest of the group as they strolled away from the stadium.

Draco was lost in a silent analysis of every nuance of this nightmare until he vaguely heard Astoria say something like, "...such fun! We really must thank you for inviting us along. I insist that you allow Draco and I to treat you all to dinner."

Draco snapped his chin up to gawk at his wife, lips parting in astonishment. He attempted to plead with her with his eyes, but she was blissfully unaware of his anguish (by chance or by choice, he didn't know).

Hermione exchanged a glance with her husband; Ron was looking dangerously wild-eyed. "Er - thank you very much, Astoria, but we have to be getting home. We and the children have a - family function in the morning."

"Well, it was so lovely to meet you," Astoria said gracefully, shaking Hermione's and Ron's hands in turn. "And Rose and Hugo," she added, taking their hands as well.

When Hermione leveled a cautious gaze at Draco, Astoria gave Draco an expectant look, but he was still reeling from the absolute insanity of his wife's actions too badly to notice. Hermione filled the brief silence with her own goodbyes, although when her back was turned as she embraced Harry, Ron cast Draco the most menacing of glares, blue eyes narrowed into slits. Draco answered it with what he hoped was an unaffected expression, one eyebrow arched, but he was secretly relieved that the savage was being removed from his vicinity before he hauled off and broke Draco's nose.

"Well, see you, mate." Harry registered the animosity in the air before pulling Ron into an affectionate half-handshake, half-hug, with much patting on the back. "I'll firecall you about that case at work tomorrow - I think it's close to being cracked." Draco smoothed his robes with calculated nonchalance as he watched Ron return Harry's hug and mutter a goodbye.

The Weasleys having Disapparated, Ginny whipped around with a winning smile, still full of energy from witnessing the closest Harpies victory to date. "I'm in. How about it, Harry?"

"Sure." It was next to impossible for Draco to decipher Harry's feelings about this unexpected outing; his face was set, expressionless and soldier-like.

"Great!" Astoria turned to Albus. "And Albus, you're welcome too, of course."

"Actually, Mum," Scorpius blurted, seizing Albus's hand. "Albus and I have plans for tonight, but you four go right along. Have a jolly time." He looped his arm around Albus's and turned his confused boyfriend around, marching him away from their parents. "We're off to..." he whispered something into Albus's ear as they walked, to which Albus replied in a reproving tone, "For God's sakes, Scorpius, my father's an Auror…"

After watching the pair speed off, the Potters and the Malfoys were left to gaze at one another. Astoria smiled happily between the Potters. Ginny's mind was still on the last few seconds of the game, and she could barely contain her elation. Harry looked mildly uncomfortable, but as good-natured as he could muster. Draco inwardly screamed.

* * *

Grindelwald's Downfall, a tavern near the Quidditch stadium, was packed with clamorous Harpies fans happily celebrating their victory with greasy grub and cold beer. Ginny, Astoria, Harry, and Draco huddled around a small round table in the center of the bustling room, having just polished off dinner and ordered more drinks (at the ladies' behest). Ginny and Astoria conversed in rapid meter, imbibing and guffawing about one thing or another. To Draco, it was bizarre to see his normally so sophisticated wife merrily knocking pints in a toast, a faint pink glow on her cheeks. He held his own glass tightly as he lifted it to his lips, drumming his fingers against the tabletop. After taking a swig, he decided that perhaps he'd had too much to drink, because he finally dared a glance at Harry.

Harry was following Astoria's and Ginny's banter with a faint smile. The dim lighting of the tavern softened his eyes into green velvet; his inky thickets of haphazard hair partially curtained the characteristically jagged scar on his forehead, a few shades paler than his skin. His chin was cradled in his right palm, fingers resting against his cheek, and his left hand loosely encircled the pint sitting in front of him, middle finger making little shapes on the glass. Draco didn't realize he was staring until Harry lazily peeped over and caught Draco's eye. Draco felt his body warm as he pretended to suddenly be distracted by two ruffians at the table over, rowdily playing a drinking game.

"Fancy that, Harry." Ginny poked Harry in the ribs with her elbow.

"Wh-what?" Harry grunted, blinking away from Draco and eyeing his wife.

"Astoria just said she gives private piano lessons. Haven't I been saying I ought to learn piano?"

"I would be glad to teach you without charge," Astoria declared excitedly. Ginny took both of her hands and giggled.

Draco raised his eyebrows in utter disbelief at how very casually Astoria was behaving. _She must be more inebriated than I thought._

"All right, you two?" Ginny inquired as she glanced between the two men. "You've hardly spoken."

"Draco's probably pondering the most discreet nonverbal hex to use on your husband, so as not to alert us to his attack," Astoria giggled, covering her mouth with the fingertips of one hand and holding Ginny's fingers with the other.

Ginny sniggered along, ignoring Draco's incredulous expression. "And Harry's probably scanning your husband's person for Dark magic contraband."

The two ladies laughed conspiratorially. Harry bristled and opened his mouth to speak some defense or other when Astoria, flicking a tear from her eye with her little finger, gasped, "Ginny, dear, would you accompany me to the ladies' room?"

"I will, Astoria, darling," Ginny returned in Astoria's posh accent, rising and hooking arms with the other lady. As they sauntered off toward the loo, Ginny whispered something like, "Should we really leave those two alone together? Perhaps they'll duel," to which Astoria replied, "It's a risk I'm willing to take..." Harry and Draco gaped after them as they cackled all the way to the lavatory door and disappeared behind it.

Draco continued to stare at the door, feeling Harry's eyes on him. His back was suddenly stiff at the notion of facing Harry alone. Before long, he heard a little cough, and he reluctantly turned to stare down his enemy.

"They're certainly having a good time," Harry offered before taking a quick gulp of his beer.

Draco told himself not to notice Harry's bared throat and followed his lead, sipping his own beer, but he already felt rather fuzzy. "Mmm, indeed," he concurred.

After some long moments of almost painful silence, Harry made a riskier attempt at conversation. "It seems that both our sons and our wives are really getting on. Perhaps it'd be best if we...you know…"

Draco rolled his eyes. "I said we could have a truce, Potter, not that I'm dying to be friends with you."

Harry scowled and bit back a retort as he took another swig. Draco hesitated, then did the same. Potter wasn't going to out-drink him.

More silence. Harry's eyes began to wander around the sea of green and gold in desperate search for a conversation starter. The atmosphere was exuberant, Harpies fans laughing drunkenly and patting each other on the backs. Two witches across the room were whispering excitedly to each other, eyes occasionally darting towards Harry. Draco looked up at the same time that Harry caught their gazes; they quickly turned their backs to him, beside themselves with covert giggling. When one of them dared another look, Harry flushed red and turned away to stare at the table, shielding his face with one hand.

Annoyance flared across Draco's features as he set his jaw and glared at Harry. "I bet that never gets old for you, Potter."

Harry glowered back up at him and snapped, "Actually, it does. It gets extremely old."

A quick "ha" of disbelief escaped Draco's lips as he crossed his arms and leaned back loftily. "Oh, I believe you. It must be so _hard_ being the Wizarding World's favorite war hero. Forgive me, O Chosen One."

Harry gripped the edge of the table and lowered his chin like a bull about to charge, eyes flashing dangerously at Draco. Draco bit his lip, his mind a foggy confusion of pure hatred, bitter jealousy, and...something else.

"Merlin knows _you'd_ love it, being such a narcissistic prick," Harry snarled. "Others aren't so megalomaniacal to enjoy being relentlessly dogged and scrutinized. And really, I'm sure you receive enough attention as a former bloody _Death Eater_ , thank you very much, so there's really no need to nurse this _ridiculous_ _envy_."

All of Draco's conflicting emotions ebbed and flowed in his brain, his anger alternately subsiding and rearing its ugly head, interspersed with some intense feeling that licked his skin like fire. Whereas it'd been relatively easy to keep his eyes off of Harry just a few moments ago, right now it was impossible _not_ to look at Harry's face, magnificent in anger, jaw clenched, nostrils flared, and eyes glinting like blades. Beyond his control, Draco's gaze lingered on lips surrounding slightly bared teeth before rising to a pair of eyes that suddenly made him feel as if he were plunging into a pensieve filled with emeralds and shattered obsidian. His son's earlier words scurried across the forefront of his hazy mind: "With those exquisite green eyes, who could resist?" They echoed as he almost imperceptibly leaned towards Harry, wondering if he'd gone mad, wondering what would happen if…

Just as he'd begun to notice Harry's angry features morphing into a picture of perfect bafflement, the approaching sound of their wives' tinkling laughter broke the connection, burned up the invisible cords that had attached grey eyes to green. Harry looked confusedly at Ginny, watching her sit down, feeling her quick kiss on his cheek. "You blokes refrain from blasting each other into oblivion?"

Draco felt Astoria seat herself unsteadily beside him, but the world surrounding him seemed lost in a funny blur. He stared at his long white hands clasped on the table, a mixture of disbelief and panic welling up inside of him.

"Er - " he interrupted the conversation that Astoria and Ginny had just struck up anew, striving to convey desperation as his eyes bore into Astoria's. "Astoria, darling, I think we should be going. I'm not feeling so well - I may have had too much to drink."

Astoria blinked at Draco, concern shining through the veil of her drunken state. "Of course, Draco. I'll take you home." Draco's shoulders relaxed a bit, and he attempted to give his wife a grateful smile.

"We should be going as well," Ginny agreed. "It was so nice of you to invite us out. We should do this again soon."

Draco was vaguely aware of Astoria and himself standing up, thanking the Potters, making future plans. He shook Ginny's hand for a bit too long, stalling as much as he could before finally forcing himself to turn and quickly shake Harry's with averted eyes. When they walked out, Draco felt nearly catatonic except for his legs; he was grateful _those_ weren't betraying him, at least.


	4. Consulting Alchemist

_Hello my pretties, this is your obsidiancurrents with another chapter, which doubles as an homage to the BBC series_ Sherlock _. Enjoy!_

* * *

Chapter Four: Consulting Alchemist

Harry pressed back into his leather chair, stretched his arms over his head, and sighed emphatically. He clumsily hoisted his booted feet onto his desk and crossed his ankles, accidentally bumping the wooden name plate carved with the words "Head Auror Harry J. Potter." The off-white walls of his office on Level Two of the Ministry of Magic were plastered with photographs of suspected Dark wizards, yellowed newspaper clippings, maps of various parts of Europe, and scribbled case notes.

The past weekend, Ron and Harry had pored over all of the evidence from the Aurors' most recent prime case, an attempted break-in at Gringotts, and had finally deduced the most likely perpetrator. Just two days ago, the individual they'd apprehended had relinquished the names of everyone involved in exchange for a lighter sentence. Harry should have been relieved to have solved the case so easily, but instead he found himself resenting its anticlimactic end.

With his wand, Harry levitated a handful of objects from his desk and began juggling them through the air absently. True, he was grateful that crime rates had lowered in recent years, yet he restlessly wondered how long he would have to wait for another compelling case. Customarily, the Aurors under Harry and Ron saw to most of the new cases, only bringing the particularly complex or urgent ones to the attention of the Head Auror and his unofficial deputy.

Harry sighed again, rubbing his eyes. At first when he'd been promoted to Head Auror, he'd been pleased to be taken off the dangerous streets, and his family even more so. Sure, the promotion may have been motivated merely by the Ministry's desire to keep a celebrity hero alive for as long as possible, but Harry had been content all the same. For a year.

After fidgeting with more objects on his desk, he popped to his feet and strode over to the windows. Each Ministry employee had the privilege of choosing whatever scene they'd like their windows enchanted with. Harry had requested the image of the real world, what he would really see if there weren't magical barriers between the Ministry and the Muggle world. The London street outside was gloomy; grey raindrops pelted the Muggles trudging along, collars turned up and umbrellas brandished. Harry could watch them all he wanted without them knowing. But no one was doing anything of note at the moment, so his mind wandered.

Much to his perturbation, it was the image of Draco Malfoy's face in the dim light of the tavern that came to mind. Almost involuntarily, Harry turned the man's words and actions over again in his mind. One minute he'd been insulting Harry like normal, and the next his features had frozen as if he'd been hit with an _Obliviate_ , making him forget where he was and especially who he was with.

What had he seen in Harry's face? What thought had crossed his mind? Was he up to something? Should Harry be keeping a wary eye on him?

A rush of something like nostalgia flowed over Harry, but he stymied it with a quick shake of his head.

When he was honest, the strangeness of those few moments was not only due to Draco's disturbing expression, but to the disturbing way it had made Harry _feel_. True, he may be flattering himself, but in that instant when Draco had suddenly shut up, bit his lip, and gazed almost hungrily into Harry's eyes, Harry had had the distinct suspicion that his own scarred face had been _all_ Draco saw - that to Draco, in that space of a few brief seconds, it had seemed that no one in the world existed save Harry.

But he knew he was indeed flattering himself. Perhaps Draco had simply developed alcohol poisoning or suffered an allergic reaction. _Come to think of it, I never did check up with Astoria about his state of health after that night..._

"All right, Harry?"

Ron strolled in through the open door, a small stack of papers in his hands. He beamed at Harry before spreading them over his desk.

Harry's heart leapt, and he was at his best friend's side in two strides. "A new case already?"

"Don't get too excited, mate. Just a few petty robberies."

Harry's eyebrows drew. "Then why are we the ones handling it?"

Ron shrugged. "I demanded a case, any case. I'm already bored out of my mind."

Harry blinked, then chuckled. "Why didn't I ever think to do that?"

Ron smoothed out a small map with a cluster of locations marked. "Right, so there's been a string of recent robberies. Apothecary shops, if you'll believe that."

"Rare and expensive items gone?"

"Not even. Which means they're not selling them for a profit."

"Then they must be using them to brew something. What are the stolen items?"

Ron lifted a small list from the desk and began to read: "Some calciners - whatever those are - mercury, copper items, this chemical called sal ammoniac, alkali salts...the Aurors who handed me the case planned to consult a potions master or an alchemy expert next."

Harry started. "Hang on...I think I know just the person to ask. Why don't you leave it up to me, mate? Get some lunch with your wife."

Ron looked at him suspiciously. "Who do you know who fits that description?"

"Er - you wouldn't know him. I'll just go now and get it over with," Harry added, plucking the stolen items list from Ron's fingers, folding it into quarters, and slipping it into his trouser pocket.

"We could always send an intern, or even an owl, while you go for a bite with us. Whaddya say?"

But Harry was already pulling his cloak on. "This won't take long, trust me. I'll be back soon."

And with that he rushed out, leaving Ron shrugging after him.

* * *

Draco Malfoy hunched over the desk in his study, quill in lithe hand, carefully transcribing words from an ancient book detailing the legend of panacea. As his own ideas regarding the theoretical implications of successfully brewing this cure-all remedy flew to his mind, he jotted them neatly in the margins. Turning a thin page, his eyes fell across a passage proposing emerald dust as a possible ingredient in panacea. He penned the basic outlines of the theory, totally absorbed, definitely not thinking about…

He straightened his back, tossed his quill onto the desk, and pinched the bridge of his nose just above where his reading glasses rested, closing his eyes tightly as if to shut something unpleasant out. The memory of his own behavior after the Quidditch match was just too painfully shameful to ponder. He decided with a nod that he would would limit his contact with that man as much as possible from now on. When necessary, he'd tolerate Albus's family for Scorpius's sake, but only until the two boys came to their senses and realized it was never going to work between them, which would be any moment now. Then Draco would never have to deal with the Potters again.

Satisfied with this, he returned to his work, only to jump at the chiming of the doorbell. He sighed, removed his glasses, and lifted himself to his feet, wondering crossly who it could be. He was alone in the Manor. Hildy was running errands, Astoria was off giving a piano lesson to the daughter of an acquaintance, and Scorpius had gone galavanting with Albus again.

Draco trekked through the hallway, drawing room, and entrance hall, silently cursing himself for never lifting the Manor's Anti-Apparition Charm. When he finally reached the entrance doors, he heaved one open. And who should he find on his doorstep but Harry Potter, staring gravely back at him?

Draco almost hissed as he reflexively used the door to shield himself. "What are you doing here, Potter?"

Harry scowled at this excuse for a greeting. "Hello to you too, Malfoy. And don't worry - this is the last place I want to be. I'm here on official Auror business."

Draco tried to slow his heartbeat as he waited for Harry to explain. Harry rolled his eyes.

"I need your expertise."

Draco opened the door a bit more, grudgingly interested. "Regarding..?"

"Would you just let me in and I'll explain?"

Draco hesitated, then threw the door wide and stepped back; Harry marched straight past him and headed for the drawing room. Peeved at his unmannerliness, Draco set his jaw and followed. In the drawing room, Harry seated himself in Draco's settee, thereby committing his second offense in two minutes. Draco folded his arms and dropped onto the chair facing him, tapping his boot on the stone floor.

Harry didn't start explaining himself right away; instead, he cast a leisurely glance around the drawing room before directing his piercing gaze at Draco, who tried not to squirm.

"I've come here to consult you about a case we've recently opened involving a string of apothecary shop robberies. I was hoping you could provide us with some leads as to who the thieves could be."

Draco was curious in spite of himself. "What have they stolen?"

Harry produced Ron's list from his pocket and cleared his throat as he unfolded it. "Calciners, mercury, copper, sal ammoniac, alk - "

"The Elixir of Life." Draco stated shortly, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.

Harry's expression was a rich mixture of annoyance and wonderment. "What, like the Philosopher's Stone?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes, like the Philosopher's Stone. Aren't you familiar with its fabled composition?"

When Harry shot him a dark look, Draco drawled on loftily. "The stolen items are ingredients commonly used in the first steps of most efforts to brew the Elixir of Life, from which the Philosopher's Stone was derived. The only individual ever known to brew it successfully was Nicolas Flamel, but his recipe was such a well-kept secret that it is rumored to only have existed in the minds of himself and one other man."

"Albus Dumbledore," Harry remembered.

"Mmm. However, that hasn't stopped many an alchemist from guessing at it. In this case you've probably got some amateur alchemist attempting to reproduce Flamel's results. You ought to keep an eye out for any ungulates mysteriously found slaughtered, their hooves and antlers missing."

"Because hooves and antlers are also…"

"Common ingredients. Many believe they're most potent when they've been freshly harvested."

Harry rescanned the list, eyebrows raised. He'd once held the Philosopher's Stone in his very pocket, but had never thought to learn more about it. He nodded at Draco politely. "Thank you for the information."

Just as relief was washing over Draco that Harry would be gone soon, the exasperating man spoke up again. "Anything else?"

Draco felt his folded arms stiffen. "Like what?"

For a terrifying moment, there was a look on Harry's face that made Draco think he might bring up his behavior after the Quidditch match the other night. But Harry just shook his head a little and clarified, "Are there any other clues you recommend we look for?"

Breathing again, Draco flipped through the files in his mind. "I suppose you _could_ look for a certain symbol, the shorthand representation of the Philosopher's Stone."

Harry cocked his head. "Would you mind drawing it for me?"

Draco made an effort to retrieve the image, although admittedly he was rather distracted. "I - can't seem to remember it, at the moment."

"Do you have it in a book somewhere? Hmm. As a matter of fact, it may be prudent to take a look at all of your alchemy books myself."

Draco's jaw tightened at the thought of bringing Harry into his study. But Harry stood up, seemingly already set on the idea. Draco inwardly groaned.

"All right, Potter. I'll show you my collection. But don't touch anything."

Harry rolled his eyes as Draco stood and dramatically turned on his heel in the direction of the hallway. Harry followed him past the dining room and to a mahogany door at the end of the hallway.

Draco hesitated with his hand over the brass doorknob. He rarely let anyone into his study, not even Astoria or Scorpius. It was just like Potter to think he was entitled to go anywhere he pleased. His hand quivered a bit as he turned the doorknob, although he refused to think about why.

They stepped into a large, square room with one wide window on the far wall through which grey light spilled, casting an ethereal glow on every object. A heavy mahogany desk sat in front of the window, topped with a reading lamp, a pair of silver spectacles, a magnifying glass, and a dusty book lying open; a heavy quill acted as a paper weight atop a neat stack of parchment papers. On either side of the desk were bookshelves completely packed with leather-bound books and loose parchment. Lining the lefthand wall were what looked to Harry like funnily-shaped cast iron ovens, and on the righthand wall were shelves of strange metal instruments and locked boxes of every size and material. On the left side of the room stood a steel table, on top of which a few boxes lied open, revealing what Harry assumed to be samples of various compounds. Next to them he spotted a delicate apparatus featuring a series of differently sized lenses that reminded him of a Muggle microscope.

Draco quickly crossed the room to his desk and slipped his reading glasses onto his nose, then scanned the section of his book collection dedicated to the Elixir of Life. Picking one that seemed promising, he opened it on his desk and flipped through the pages. Harry leisurely strolled up behind him to look over his shoulder.

Draco froze when he realized how close Harry was to him. "Well?" he heard Harry say.

Draco cleared his throat and ignored the thumping of his heart as he finally flipped to the right page. "There. That's the symbol."

Draco drew a sharp breath when Harry's robes barely brushed his own sleeve as the Auror sidled up to stand beside him. Harry leaned forward for a closer look, and Draco found it nearly impossible not to stare at the back of his neck.

"This looks familiar…" Harry said slowly. Then he shook his head and muttered, "Oh, that's why. It looks like the symbol of the Deathly Hallows."

The symbol was a circle nested in a square, nested in a triangle, nested in a larger circle.

"Yes, I suppose it does," Draco breathed. He'd heard the bedtime story as a lad. He also knew the Deathly Hallows' connection with Harry and the defeat of the Dark Lord. He knew that Harry had briefly become the Master of Death, and he was aware of the technicality which had led to the Elder Wand's allegiance to Harry: Draco had disarmed Dumbledore, and Harry had disarmed Draco. And, most painfully of all, he knew that Severus had needlessly died due to Voldemort's misunderstanding of this crucial technicality.

A wave of emotion swallowed him when he thought of Severus, and he suddenly felt exhausted. Harry turned his head to look at him with a puzzled expression.

Draco whirled around and walked a few agitated steps away from Harry, determined not to let the man see him feel anything other than the few specific emotions he allowed himself to show Harry. He stopped when he was sufficiently far away and spoke in the most level voice possible, keeping his back turned to Harry.

"I've told you something you wanted to know, Potter. Now kindly return the favor. What were the details of Severus Snape's death?"

Harry was surprised at the abrupt change in topic. He stared suspiciously at the back of Draco's head, then at the pale hands clasped behind his back. Was he about to have a civil conversation with Draco Malfoy?

Harry sighed. "Voldemort ordered his snake on him, thinking his death would make him master of the Elder Wand."

"Yes, of course," Draco said impatiently. "Tell me something I don't know, Potter."

Harry scowled, inwardly chastising himself for thinking Draco could be anything but uncivil. "If you'll stop acting like a prat, I'll tell you," he snarled. "As Snape was dying he entrusted me with his memories. They revealed that he was a double agent, that he was using Occlumency to keep Voldemort in the dark while he helped Dumbledore with his plans." He hesitated. "They revealed - why he'd become a double agent."

Draco whirled around to face Harry. "Why?" he breathed.

"It was because - " Harry hesitated again, wondering if Snape would want him to divulge this. Draco looked as though he could hardly contain his curiosity, steel eyes rapt on Harry's with a determination to exact the truth. Harry noticed absently that Draco was still wearing his delicate, silver-framed spectacles.

Harry exhaled slowly. "Because Voldemort killed my mum."

Draco shook his head impatiently. "I don't understand. Why would that turn him traitor?"

"Can't you guess, Malfoy?"

Harry watched Malfoy's features screw up in puzzlement, then slowly smooth back out into an expressionless mask. His storm-grey gaze was trained on the dark carpet, but Harry had a feeling he wasn't really seeing it. Draco snapped his eyes back to Harry's and shook his head.

"No. That can't be true."

Harry was taken aback. "Why not? I saw it in the Pensieve. He met her as a child and loved her ever since."

Draco laughed bitterly. "No. It wasn't in his nature to love - especially someone like her. It must have been a mistake."

"No, it wasn't a bloody _mistake,_ " Harry growled through gritted teeth. "She was a Muggleborn and a Gryffindor and he loved her. Is that so hard for a pure-blood dickhead like you to believe?"

Draco bared his teeth as he brandished his wand. "Watch your mouth, Potter."

"Did you ever notice Snape's patronus, Malfoy?" Harry fumed, not bothering to draw his own wand - he'd wring Draco's neck himself if he had to. "A doe. The same as my mother's. And do you know what his dying request was?"

Draco found that he was shaking uncontrollably.

"He wanted to see my eyes. Her eyes."

In a flash, Draco had dropped his wand and crossed the room, grabbing fistfuls of Harry's robes. Harry glared defiantly into his burning eyes, breathing hard, sweet adrenaline pumping through his heart.

"Snape was a bloody fool," Draco growled. _Just like me._

As if possessed by some alien force, he wrenched Harry against him, crashed his mouth against his, felt Harry's body stiffen as Draco forced his mouth open. Every nerve in Draco's body fired off as he tasted Harry, even as a screeching voice sounded like an alarm in his head: _Stop! Stop! Stop! Stop!_

He would stop after just this once, just this one time and then never again…

Suddenly the old shame came rushing back to him, drowning him. Regret fractured every fiber of his flesh as he made to pull away from Harry -

But then Draco was aware of something very _odd_ happening - very odd indeed. It seemed as though Harry wasn't _letting_ him break away; in absolute fact, Harry was moaning softly into his mouth, pushing him backwards, pressing against him...

 _This can't be real...this cannot be bloody real…_

Next moment, Harry broke free, gasping for air and shoving Draco off of him and hard into the desk. Both men panted as they stared at each other with identical looks of bewilderment. After a moment, Harry closed his eyes and groaned as his hand flew to his forehead, as if his scar were bothering him again after all these years. Draco watched him with wide eyes, trying desperately to read his expression, eyes flickering over every visible facial feature.

Without a word, Harry spun and bolted to the door, yanking it open and disappearing around it.

Draco very slowly sank into his desk chair, shaking his head in disbelief. He gaped up through the streaked windowpanes, into the storm-filled clouds.


	5. Right and Wrong

_Hello my dear Muggles, obsidiancurrents here with this overdue chapter. Enjoy the drama!_

* * *

Chapter Five: Right and Wrong

Ron Weasley sauntered across the marble floor of the Atrium with a spring in his step, heading back to Auror Headquarters after a romp and a meal in Hermione's office. Occasionally one of the many fireplaces he passed would flame up and spit out a Ministry employee returning from his or her lunch break. One of these was Harry Potter.

"Oy, Harry!"

Seemingly deaf to this accost, Harry hastened ahead of Ron, making a beeline for the lift.

"Wait up, mate!"

Ron jogged to Harry's side and clapped a strong hand on his shoulder. Harry started and whipped around, blinking at Ron.

"What gives, Harry? You're looking a bit wrong."

When Harry finally seemed to register Ron's presence, he jerkily shook his shaggy head and forced a smile. "Sorry, Ron. Just...distracted."

He turned quickly and continued on, longest friend now at his side.

"So how did it go with the expert?" Ron asked brightly. "Learn anything?"

"What? Er, yes. Quite a lot..."

As Harry and Ron made their way to Auror Headquarters and walked toward Harry's office, Harry recounted the new leads for the case, but Ron noted with a flicker of concern that Harry's speech was uneven, his breath slightly ragged. When they finally reached the door to Harry's office, Harry suddenly turned to him.

"Listen, mate. Would you mind coming back a bit later? I've got some, er, paperwork that needs seeing to."

Ron's pink mouth tensed, but he just shrugged. "All right, mate. See you in a bit."

Harry nodded, forcing another half-smile, and Ron watched him claw the door open before closing it firmly behind him. What he didn't see was Harry immediately sink to the floor, grabbing his untidy hair in both hands and shaking his head repeatedly.

* * *

 _I need to tell her about this thing._

Harry and Ginny were lounging beside each other in bed, reading by lamplight. Well, Ginny was reading - Harry was watching her out of the corner of his eye. She had one knuckle in her mouth, sky-blue eyes focused intently on the pages of her novel, red strands of hair falling over her lightly freckled shoulders.

Harry clutched the Daily Prophet too hard, his mind dull with exhaustion. He'd managed to gather himself enough to finish his day at work, come home to the kids, and cook them dinner. He'd been close to bursting when Ginny had finally returned from a late day at work, but she'd rushed straight to the study, chattering excitedly about a new article she was working on.

Ginny presently glanced up and arched an eyebrow at him, smiling slightly. "What are you staring at, Potter?"

 _Potter? Why did she call me Potter? Does she suspect something?_

He hesitated. "You, er...look beautiful." That wasn't a lie.

She smiled at him sweetly. "Thanks, Harry. You're quite the charmer yourself." She winked and returned to her book.

 _Yeah. Like a snake charmer. Merlin. Why is it so hard to tell her? We've been married for half my life. We're partners. I can do this._

"Ginny," Harry began again, with slightly more confidence this time.

She finished the sentence she was on, then turned towards him again. "Yes, Harry?"

"I - well, you see..."

He looked into her sapphire eyes and imagined them filled with tears. He imagined her wrenching the children away from him, to the Burrow, where she would tearfully reveal to the Weasleys what a cheating arse he was, resulting in a disowning. He imagined divorce, and the mere thought nearly made him clutch his sides in agony.

Maybe...maybe the right thing to do was actually to _not_ tell her, to spare her the pain. It was just one kiss after all, an extremely unfortunate accident involving the most regrettable accomplice conceivable, and it would never, _ever_ happen again. If he could keep it under wraps from this moment onward, she could remain blissfully ignorant of his horrible mistake - she may even prefer that. Life would go on as normal, and his family would be kept intact.

He bit his lip, feeling as if he would collapse under the weight of unfamiliar, crushing doubt. Right and wrong didn't used to be so difficult to discern. Right and wrong used to be easy for him. Painfully reminded of his suspicion as a schoolboy that he was really a Slytherin all along, he took a deep breath as he wondered what he would say, what decision he would make.

"Ginny, I - I want to start having sex again."

Both looked equally surprised at what had sprang from his mouth. After a few tense seconds, Ginny's lips tightened as she turned back to her book. "I really don't feel like talking about this right now."

"When, then?"

"How about when you can hold an erection for five minutes?"

She let a chunk of hair fall forward to curtain her burning face as she glared at her book. Harry felt as though he'd been slapped.

"Gin," he said as gently as possible, his face heating to match hers. "As I've suggested before, I think it would help if you let me - let me tie you up or something - "

An angry huff cleared the hair from her fiery eyes as they darted to his. "Harry, how many times do I have to tell you I'm not - I'm not _like_ that. I just want normal - I just want you to be gentle, _passionate_ with me." She blinked away hot tears and tore her gaze from his once more. "If I'm so boring to you, then maybe you should just - just bugger off."

Tears began spilling down her cheeks, and she angrily wiped them away. Harry, horrified and guilty, reached out and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to his chest. She didn't protest.

"Ginny, you could never be boring to me. I love you, Gin."

She shook her head. "I don't want to be some weepy, insecure wife. But I can't help but feel like maybe - maybe there's some deeper problem."

She shook her head again, as if in refusal. Harry sighed, exhausted and shaking, brushing her hair from her face and pressing her more tightly against him. He felt as if his heart were ripping through his chest with every beat. "Ginny, what if we got...some therapy? It really seemed to help Ron and Herm out."

Ginny nodded against his shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut as she impatiently attempted to stifle her sobs. "We can try," she muttered, but her voice was flat.

Harry closed his eyes, a pulsating headache crowding out all intelligible thought. He opened them again and attempted to smile at her.

"I'll be right back. I have to send an owl."

* * *

Draco swallowed as he walked down Grimmauld Place at half-past five in the morning, feeling strangely vulnerable, and not just because he was stealing down Muggle streets before dawn. Really, he shouldn't have come. Why be alone with Potter again? Why place himself in the middle of another hazardous situation? He remembered the kiss and felt a wave of heavy heat, recalling the taste of Harry's mouth before he could shut it out. Was it possible that Potter had invited him here to continue where they'd left off?

Draco shook this annoying thought out of his head and swallowed some more Calming Draught out of a vial he produced from his robe pocket. No; Harry was too much of a self-righteous prick to have an affair with someone he personally _liked,_ let alone with Draco bloody Malfoy. To think he'd regard the incident as anything but a mistake was ludicrous. And even if he did, Draco hadn't come here for more of _that_. He'd come to soundly reject Harry, make it clear that nothing else was going to happen, maybe even cast a few curses at him...

He halted in front of number eleven and number thirteen, then raised the letter he had crumpled in his hand to his eyes and cleared his throat. "Let's see here...'Harry Potter may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.'" When he looked up again, he was staring at a tall house he was sure had not been there before, squeezed between numbers eleven and thirteen.

He attempted to gather himself before ascending the dilapidated steps to the door. He noticed that the knocker was in the shape of a snake; this made him feel a bit more at home. He lifted it and knocked heavily, three times.

Next moment, he was being pulled roughly inside. "Did anyone see you?"

"Who would have seen me, Potter? Muggles?" Draco made sure his tone was sufficiently icy so as not to betray the fire raging under his skin. He attempted to regain his composure, gracefully patting off some dust that had fallen onto his shoulder. When he finally dared to lift his eyes to Harry, the man was already marching hurriedly away, down a dusty hallway. Draco blinked and nervously glanced around; gas lamps on the peeling walls cast a dim, flickering light on the various hanging portraits, and an old chandelier, covered in dust and cobwebs, hung from the ceiling. Draco scrunched his nose and covered the lower half of his face with his robe sleeve before walking briskly after Harry. "Ugh - what is this place? Couldn't you cast a cleaning charm or two?"

He followed Harry up a staircase, breath ragged and heart fluttering. They reached the landing, and Harry led him into a small, softly lit drawing room. When he finally turned to look at Draco, a stern and set expression was present on his features. Draco struggled to meet his eyes.

"Sit."

Draco was taken aback by Harry's tone. No one told Draco what to do. "Aren't you going to tell me where I bloody am?"

Harry sighed and plunked into a maroon armchair after blasting it with a cleaning charm, sending dust everywhere. "Sirius Black's house," he coughed, rubbing his temples.

"Black, did you say?" A tiny beacon of intrigue lighted in the storm of Draco's mind as he gazed about the room. There were some windows facing the dark street, a handsome fireplace, and an old tapestry hanging on the wall with holes burned in a few places. When he stepped over for a closer look, he realized it depicted a family tree - his maternal family tree, in fact. He was momentarily distracted from the present situation as his stony eyes swept greedily over the names and portraits of his mother and father, then lingered on his own portrait. Beside his mother's portrait was the image of a female face surrounded by dark hair, accompanied by the label "Bellatrix Black"; someone had slashed through the face with a knife.

"What happened can never happen again."

Draco straightened and turned to face Harry, who, as if too anxious to remain seated, had suddenly risen again and stood up straight like a soldier, clasping his hands behind his back.

Draco pulled his best sneer. "Obviously."

"I'll need you to stay as far away from me as possible without rousing suspicion," Harry went on. "We'll see each other only as much as is required for our boys. We will keep conversation to a bare minimum."

"Precisely what I was going to propose," Draco said in what he hoped was a bored tone.

"Right then."

"Right." A few seconds of silence. "Are we through?"

Draco whirled around and began stalking back toward the stairs. Harry shifted his weight, struggling against himself.

"Malfoy, wait."

Draco stopped in his tracks, then slowly turned to face Harry again, quivering involuntarily. If he was honest with himself, he hadn't felt this afraid in years - afraid that he would lose control, commit some unthinkable act. He itched to run away, to escape before that happened. No matter what, he could not lose his grip in front of Potter again.

"Um," Harry said, scratching the back of his head. "It's just - why did you kiss me?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Draco retorted, his pulse pounding in his ears.

Harry's cheeks flamed. "Malfoy, I - I'm begging you. Please do not tell Ginny about this. Or anyone."

"Astoria already knows."

Harry blinked back at him. " _What?_ "

"Relax," Draco drawled, examining his fingernails. "She thought it was funny."

" _Funny?!_ What the fuck is so _funny_ about this?"

Draco shrugged. "Let's just say this isn't the first time we've involved a third party in our relationship."

If Harry's jaw unhinged any more, it would have hit the floor. Draco savored that look. It meant he now had the upper hand.

"This is bloody unbelievable," Harry grumbled.

"Don't be jealous, Potter."

" _Jealous_? I don't want - Ginny is the only one I love - "

"Oh, I'll bet she is," Draco mocked. "I'll bet she's the only one you've _ever_ loved, if you catch my meaning."

"Don't be such a prick, Malfoy." Harry's cheeks continued to burn; his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "I just - don't want anyone else."

"Oh really, Potter? Because that's not the impression I got when you were _snogging me_ \- "

"You snogged me first!"

"And now you're not going to tell your faithful wife what you've done." Draco tutted, shaking his head in mock condescension. "You, the supposed paragon of moral virtue."

"Fuck. Off."

"Perhaps it's because you'd like to keep the door open for future possibilities? Naughty, naughty golden boy…"

Harry almost spat. "Like I would _ever_ want to touch a slimy git like you _again_!"

"Then why did you invite me round to this place, hm? Trap me in here alone with you?"

" _Because_ , you fucking moron, I didn't want anyone to see us together - "

"Why not write what you needed to tell me in your letter?"

"Because someone could have _seen_ it - "

"Just admit it, Potter. You _enjoyed_ snogging me. And now you've invited me here to have your way with me. I expect you'll be dropping to your knees at any moment - "

With a furious growl, Harry traversed the room and swung at Draco with his fist. Draco ducked just in time, stumbling to the floor; the force with which Harry had thrown his fist propelled his body into the wall. Draco, suddenly wide-eyed with fear, drew his wand from his pocket, only to find that Harry had drawn his as well. Draco froze; they trained their wands on each other, each panting hard, Draco on his knees and Harry standing over him, looking menacing.

Before Draco could work out what was happening, Harry had seized a fistful of his hair.

"What the _fuck_ , Potter - "

Harry descended on him and silenced him with his mouth, pulling Draco's head painfully backward.

Draco felt as if his whole body was humming. He moaned into Harry's mouth and let Harry shove him by the shoulders the rest of the way to the dusty wooden floor, pinning him down. Struggling to regain his senses, Draco tried to fight back, but for some reason his muscles had gone weak, and Harry was able to hold him firmly - too hard - never breaking away.

With horror, Draco realized that exactly what he'd feared would happen had happened. He was losing control in the worst possible way.

They thrashed in the dust, Draco attempting to shove Harry off of him, and Harry struggling to hold him down. When Harry had both of Draco's arms pinned, he finally released Draco's mouth, dark eyes smoldering, jaw clenched. Draco glared back, looking mutinous.

Harry then wrapped Draco's left hand tightly in his fist and shoved Draco's sleeve up to expose his forearm. Imprinted there against pale skin was Draco's Dark Mark, faded to grey from years of deactivation. Draco attempted to pull away, but Harry snarled, wrenched his arm up, and clamped his teeth around the Mark, forcing a strangled cry from Draco.

"Potter, what the _fuck's_ gotten into you - ?"

"I'm not as virtuous as you think," Harry growled. The electricity shooting through his body was too good, too amazing to care about anything else. Ginny floated faintly in the back of his mind; he quietly promised himself that he would confess after this, that this would be the last time…

Draco remembered his wand in his right hand and lifted it weakly, but his thoughts were so foggy that he couldn't lock down the right incantation to employ. He wouldn't have had the chance to curse Harry anyway; the man grasped Draco's wrist in such a way that Draco reflexively outstretched his fingers, watching helplessly as his wand dropped and rolled away from him. Harry grabbed Draco's hair once more, brought his face to his, and bit down on his lower lip; Draco was stunned to feel Harry's own lips stretch into a wicked smile as Draco released a stifled shout of pain; when next he felt Harry's hard cock pressing against his leg he bucked, half mortified, half abashedly ecstatic. Mind muddled with a kind of shocked euphoria, he gaped dry-mouthed as Harry fumbled with his own trousers, his scarred face savage and determined.

 _I know you, Potter. When we're done, you'll hate yourself._

Draco didn't say this aloud for fear that it would make it all stop, but he knew in his very bones that Harry would never want to see him again after this. And he was surprised at how utterly empty that inward premonition made him feel, how he grieved the looming loss of this moment.

 _Goodbye, Harry. It was hell knowing you._


	6. Breakable

Chapter Six: Breakable

In the rosy light of sunrise, Harry stumbled into the front door of the Potter home and staggered around the kitchen, fingers clenched in his hair, vision blurry.

Every previously unquestionable part of his identity - his loyalty, his integrity, his sense of pride - seemed to decay and fall away like crumbling pillars, festering self-deceptions. The Harry he used to know would have done anything to avoid hurting the ones he loved. Was he to be cursed hereafter with this new, unwelcome incarnation of himself, this monstrous stranger? Or, even more disturbingly, had he always been this person, doomed to build a good life for himself only to throw it all away with one disastrous slip?

Here he'd had a family, the only thing he'd ever really longed for. His children made him proud every day; his wife was fierce, funny, and loving. Any flaws in their marriage seemed so minuscule now that he'd ruined any chance of fixing them. Ginny was going to divorce him. His family, his life, his heart would be torn apart.

He dragged his heavy body onto a chair at the table. A sequence of faces, hurt and disappointed, flew through his mind like some torturous slideshow. Ginny. Lily. Albus. James. Ron. Hermione...

With a dull burning sensation in the pit of his stomach, he foresaw being permitted to see Lily and Albus only on designated weekends, if he was lucky enough to be granted even that. He imagined his children forced to split holidays between the Weasleys and their lonely dad. Never again would he receive one of Molly's Christmas sweaters, or be questioned by Arthur about Muggle customs, or be the butt of one of George's jokes. He'd be alone, all alone like in his broom cupboard, only this time he would understand what he was missing.

He laid against the table, pressing his cheek against the wood, his glasses knocked askew. He wondered absently if his insides were bleeding, if his magic were perhaps punishing him by slowly ripping through his organs. It would make sense; he'd always desired to punish anyone who would harm his loved ones.

Ginny found him that way as she was heading out the door for work. In a beat, she was at a chair beside him, propping him up against her, holding his limp body with wide, blue eyes.

"Harry! Harry, what's wrong? Tell me what's wrong," she begged.

"Ginny," he whispered hoarsely, turning his head away from her and shaking. It was too painful to look at her face, full of loving concern. "Ginny, I fucked it."

Ginny's heartbeat stalled, and somewhere inside of her, she _knew_. "What are you saying, Harry?" Her arms stiffened around him, and her breath came hard and fast through flared nostrils.

Harry's next utterance sounded as if torn from his chest. "I was unfaithful - "

She shoved him roughly away. Harry covered his face with both hands and heaved a sob. Ginny continued breathing fast, but spoke slowly, dangerously. "Why would you do that, Harry?"

Harry shook his head miserably, pressing his hands against his face, trapping hot tears between his fingers. Her back stiffened as she rose from her seat.

"Get up. Look at me."

Harry bit his lip hard, suppressing sobs as he pressed his palms against the table and lifted himself from his chair with what seemed like immense effort. Finally, he brought his eyes to hers; an onslaught of powerful remorse crippled him as he saw that hers were filled with tears. That image of her face, agonized and incredulous, seared his mind as he dropped his gaze, shaking his head, almost detaching from reality in self-preservation.

"Who was it?" Ginny choked.

Harry just shook his head faster, which had the effect of smearing every image in his mind together, like he was speeding past them all on a broomstick.

"Harry, answer me: Who. Was. It."

The first time he tried to say the name, he found his voice had failed him, and he only shaped the syllables with his lips. Would it be easier if it had been anyone else?

"Malfoy."

Ginny backed up so fast that she knocked into a chair, almost tripping over it. Harry's gaze snapped back to her disgusted face; he was seized by a new bout of uncontrollable shaking. He watched as Ginny slowly retreated towards the staircase.

Panicked, Harry shot forward, tried to wrap her in his arms - but she fought him off and slapped him square on the cheek before drawing her wand and staring dangerously down its shaft, into his eyes.

"Don't fucking _touch_ me."

And with that, she spun around and climbed the staircase with purposeful steps.

"Ginny, don't - _please_ ," Harry begged. He raced after her as she ascended to the landing and stomped to the first door on the right. She ignored him entirely and rapped her knuckles against the door before jerking it open and poking her head inside.

"Lily, up. Gather a change of clothes. We're going to your grandparents'."

"Ginny, please, wait - "

She shut Lily's door and, without a single glance at Harry, marched to Albus's and pounded on it.

"Albus, wake up! We're leaving!"

Her voice finally broke as she crumpled against the door, sobbing. Harry reached out to her, but she furiously pushed him away. "Bastard," she spat before she all but kicked Albus's door open to reveal Albus, sitting stick-straight in bed with wide green eyes, and one Scorpius Malfoy beside the bed, frantically pulling his trousers on, white-blond hair mussed and eyes averted.

Horror and panic wreaked havoc in Albus's mind as he gaped at his mother standing in the doorway, glaring between himself and Scorpius, and his father partially hidden behind her. But his emotions morphed as he noted a sound in the air that he had never heard in his life - his father, sobbing. Looking back at Ginny, he finally perceived the deep color in her cheeks, the tears streaking her face.

Scorpius, now successfully clothed, clenched his jaw hard as he struggled to meet Ginny's eyes. But he too sensed that there was more in them than parental disappointment at finding someone in her teenaged son's bed.

Absorbing the scene, Ginny flinched as a feeling similar to deja vu slapped her in the face. It struck her how uncannily Albus's looks recalled a younger Harry, and how very strongly Scorpius resembled Draco Malfoy. The young couple's whole relationship now seemed to her like a terrible omen that she never deciphered.

A faint realization of how unseemly it would be for an adult woman to point her wand at a teenager was all that kept her wand clenched at her side as her eyes burned into Scorpius.

"Get out. The same way you got in."

Scorpius defensively lifted his pale hands as he backed toward the corner of the room where his broom was propped, snatched it up, thrust open the window, and dove into the morning air. Albus, who'd been watching him anxiously, now turned to examine his parents once more. His eyes caught on his dad's face.

His dad looked miserably back at him, his dull, sunken eyes dashing over his son's features. For the first time, Albus was confronted with the realization that his hero was merely human, that he could commit errors egregious enough to cause even his strong, stubborn mother to break down in tears. A curious mixture of sympathy and anger roiled under his skin.

"Albus." Ginny attempted to speak calmly, but her breathing was spastic, her words too sharp. "We're leaving."

* * *

Astoria sat at her grand piano in the music room of Malfoy Manor, banging out works of Clara Schumann between sips of her morning tea. Turning a page of her music notes, she was startled when she heard the tinkling of the doorbell.

She glanced at the grandfather clock on the wall, wondering who could be calling at this hour. Then she shrugged, pulled the fallboard over the ivory keys, and rose with her teacup in hand.

The bell chimed repeatedly as she descended the grand staircase. She grew more and more puzzled as she made her way to the entrance room.

By the time she finally reached the main doors, whoever was on the other side had moved on to banging on them with fists. Astoria scowled, wrapped her delicate hands around the door handles, and opened.

In the morning light stood a disheveled Ginny Potter, panting like she'd run there. There was a redness in the whites of her eyes that contrasted starkly with the ice-blue irises set against them. Her face appeared flushed and tear-stained, but she was not crying now: she was livid.

Astoria barely managed to jump out of her way as she stomped in and demanded, "Where is he?"

Astoria's lips parted in uneasiness. She felt as if she'd just let a loose tiger into her home. "Which of my boys are you looking for?" she asked levelly, although she already knew.

Ginny whirled around and almost snarled at her. "Oh, I dunno. How about the one who fucked my husband?"

Astoria took a deep, steadying breath. "He's not home right now."

"Then where is he?"

"I - I'm not entirely sure. Ginny, why don't you come to the dining room and have some tea?"

"No, I don't want any bloody tea. What I want is - "

Astoria flinched as Ginny's mouth dropped open in realization. "Hang on." Ginny pointed an accusatory finger. "You _knew_ about this, didn't you?"

"Well - yes," Astoria stammered, her cheeks warming. "But not for long - "

"How _dare_ you?" Ginny's hands were now fists, and new tears were standing in her eyes. "How dare you not tell me? I thought I could trust you!"

"You _can_ trust me, Ginny," Astoria rushed. "Believe me, I didn't want anyone to get hurt. But it was Harry's place to tell you, not mine."

Ginny shook herself in disbelief as her fists loosened. Stifling a gasp, she hung her head; bitter tears streamed down her cheeks.

Astoria hurried to her and wrapped her arm around her shoulders, supporting Ginny's weakened body. She walked her gingerly into the dining room, sat her down in a chair, and quietly asked Hildy to send tea.

"How could he do this to me?" Ginny sobbed. "Doesn't he love me anymore?"

"Of course he loves you," Astoria assured her softly, conjuring a silk napkin to wipe Ginny's tears. "Anyone could see how much he loves you, Ginny..."

"Wanker," Ginny choked, slamming her fist on the table. "How could Draco Malfoy compare with me in Harry's eyes?" She glared at Astoria. "You didn't know him in school - he was absolutely horrible, worst of all to Harry. Did you know, when Voldemort controlled my mind and almost killed me in my first year - Draco was _delighted_. He _wanted_ Slytherin's monster to kill the Muggleborns, including my sister-in-law _._ "

Astoria's face heated in shame for her husband. "I know he's said and done some gruesome things in his youth," she acknowledged slowly. "But believe me when I say he's changed - truly, I don't think he ever was as foul as he pretended to be...You should see him when he's with Scorpius or me, how tame he's become. And he doesn't dare say anything to insult Muggleborns. Not in my presence, at least."

Ginny shook her head. "But still, Harry's always loathed him. And now he turns around and screws him behind my back? Why?" She clenched her teeth.

Astoria hesitated. "He hasn't opened up about it, but I believe Draco is struggling to - to work something out right now. I'm not sure I find his dynamic with your husband healthy, but…" She trailed off, shaking her head.

Ginny buried her face in her hands, and her shoulders shook as she wept. "What did I do to deserve this?"

"Nothing. You did nothing at all," Astoria assured, taking Ginny in her arms. "It's just that - when you've been married for _that long_ \- "

"You're saying he was bored. That he was tired of me."

"No, that's not exactly what I - "

"Does he think he's the only one who's been bored?" Ginny exclaimed with a frustrated growl, uncovering her face and glaring through tears into Astoria's eyes. "Does he think he's the only one who longs for novelty, for adventure? Well, he's not."

There was a peculiar shift in Ginny's features until she looked as if she were seeing Astoria for the first time. Astoria turned her head slightly, watching in mild confusion before realizing…

Ginny leaned over and pressed her lips against Astoria's, placing her hand against her neck, then running her fingertips lightly along her jawbone. For a moment, Astoria leaned into the kiss with mounting pleasure, but that pleasure was soon chased off by nagging guilt. She pulled gently from Ginny and held the woman's angry, tear-streaked face in her hands.

"Ginny, I don't believe you want to do this."

"Why should Harry have all the fun?"

Ginny leaned in again, but Astoria held her back firmly. Ginny blinked away frustrated tears.

"You're upset, Ginny. Please, let me escort you to your parents' house. Are your children there?"

Ginny's lower lip trembled, and she fell against Astoria, sobbing into her shoulder. Astoria wrapped her arms around her and stroked her hair.

"Ginny, you are a strong woman. You will get through this, I promise. We will all get through this together."


	7. Seeing Red

Chapter Seven: Seeing Red

Harry sat at his kitchen table, wretchedly alone, staring at the plate of cold eggs before him. His mouth was full of sand, his battered brain void of any desire to eat. Rubbing deep circles into his throbbing temples, he bitterly fought to forget that the home around him, once filled with warm chatter and familial squabbles, was now barren, cold, and oppressively silent.

An hour or so had passed since Ginny had rushed Albus and Lily out the door, shutting down their disoriented questions and Harry's anguished pleas. His eyes pressed shut against the memory's assault.

He miserably wondered which gruesome details Ginny had chosen to disclose while settling in at the Burrow. Had Lily wept? Had Albus become brooding and despondent, suffering in his quiet way? And what of James - had Ginny yet written him?

Perhaps most agonizing of all was picturing Molly's and Arthur's reactions to Harry's sickening betrayal. He couldn't bear to be orphaned again.

But these ruminations felt like a knife twisting mercilessly into Harry's stomach, so he struggled to banish them and instead focus on numbing his pain. He half-heartedly tried to recall his Occlumency lessons, first from Snape and then from his Auror training, but he'd never caught on to all that "empty your mind" shite. Of course, there were always Cheering Charms, but he vaguely recalled Hermione excitedly mentioning their potential to worsen depression after fading and their tendency to induce irreversible brain damage if relied upon for too long.

When bitter frustration shook his body into a paroxysm of renewed sobbing, he realized that it probably wasn't healthy to be alone right now. He considered going into work, but decided against it; he didn't much feel like drawing his coworkers' attention to any uncontrolled displays of emotion. It would be nice, though, to lose himself in a case, perhaps even dig into some years-old cold cases. He decided murkily that he would write his secretary at the Ministry and request that he hand-deliver a stack of files to his home.

Just as he was mustering the energy to drag himself to the study, there was a sharp rapping at the door. He shot up from his chair and whirled toward the sound. _Ginny?_

He flew across the floor, nearly splintered the door in his haste to wrench it open, and stared disbelievingly at the individual on his doorstep.

"Potter," Draco Malfoy breathed, pushing past Harry and into the house. "Potter, I - "

" _Despulso!_ "

Draco was propelled across the room, where his back hit the far wall. Shocked at the blunt pain now spanning his shoulder blades, he fixed an indignant glare on Harry's face - then swallowed at the animalistic ferocity he found there. Draco's pulse hammered as Harry advanced on him, chin lowered and wand raised, flames dancing in his eyes.

" _Langlock!_ "

Draco swiftly dodged this one, whirling as he diverted it with his wand. " _Everte Statum!_ "

Harry thoughtlessly blocked this with a nonverbal Shield Charm. Draco's mind clouded with panic as the clearly unhinged Auror stalked nearer, but he held his wand steady. " _Impedimenta!_ "

Harry again deflected, teeth bared, flashing eyes locked on his prey. His wand slashed furiously through the air: " _Entomorphis! Locomotor Wibbly! Levicorpus!_ "

Draco checked all three curses nonverbally, spinning and dodging frantically. Hair disheveled, he braced his back against the wall, panting as he stabbed his wand in Harry's direction. "What's next, Potter?" he spat, eyes steely with resentment. "Going to cast another Sectumsempra on me?"

Draco immediately regretted giving Harry this idea, but to Draco's surprise, it had the effect of making his attacker look a touch less murderous. Harry stopped in his tracks, wand frozen midair, and Draco reckoned it might be over...

" _Expelliarmus!_ "

Draco's wand shot from his slackened grip.

" _Colloshoo!_ "

His boots adhered to the floor; he tried to wrench them up, but no use. Harry closed in on him and pressed the tip of his wand into Draco's throat.

"Maybe I will, Malfoy," he breathed dangerously. "You would deserve it."

"If I deserve it, then so do you," Draco snarled softly, glaring down into Harry's burning eyes. He reflexively jumped when Harry smacked the wall just centimeters from his ear with his left hand, jabbing the wand with his right.

"I testified at your Death Eater trial for you!" Harry shouted. "I saved your arse from Voldemort! And this is how you repay me? By storming back into my life and destroying my marriage?"

Draco's breath caught as Harry seized a handful of his robes and slammed him back against the wall. Light-headed, he half-attempted to fight Harry off before realizing in horror that his body had gone quite weak, that he couldn't will his arms to move. But it was futile to struggle anyway, wandless as he was; when it came to physical strength, Harry obviously had the upper hand.

"All my life, I've tried to do the right thing, tried to be decent," Harry growled, breath hot against Draco's face. "And what have _you_ done? Tortured me at school, tortured my friends. Became a bloody Death Eater."

"You tortured me, too," Draco rasped, but Harry shut him up with another hard shove. Draco closed his eyes as if against a bright flame.

"How can you even say that?" Harry breathed incredulously, shaking his head. "How can you be that out of touch with reality?"

Draco trembled as he drew in a shaky breath, then very slowly released it. When he finally opened his eyes to catch Harry's emerald gaze, Harry was startled by what he found in their sunless depths: unmistakable, haunting _pain_ , deep and weathered like an old scar. Awe and a twinge of regret loosened his grip on Draco's robes, and he slowly lowered his wand, his softening gaze never breaking from Draco's.

Suddenly, the air behind him split with a furious cry, then a flash of crimson bathed the room in ruby light. Draco's charcoal eyes fluttered shut as he slumped into Harry's arms, boots still adhered to the floor. Stumbling and blinking furiously, Harry noted that a thin, dark stream of blood trickled from Draco's nose and streaked his pale lips. Shaken, Harry peered over his shoulder.

Ron stood near the doorway in his Auror robes, ears reddened and wand raised menacingly.

"Ron!" Harry barked harshly. "What did you _do?_ "

"Oh, stuff it, Harry," Ron shouted brokenly, stiffening and shakily training his wand on his brother-in-law. "How could you do that to my little sister? And with a _bloke!_ Who happens to be bloody _Malfoy!"_

Harry snapped his attention back to Draco, still limp in his arms, and desperately pressed his fingertips into the man's jugular to feel for a pulse - not dead, just out cold. Harry quickly raised his wand.

" _Finite incantatem!_ "

The shoe-sticking spell's effects disappeared, but Draco remained unconscious; Harry struggled to maintain his grip on Draco's body as it fell into a new position. He pointed his wand again, growing more and more panicked.

" _Rennervate!_ "

Draco still did not stir, just lolled against Harry, blond head now resting on the Auror's shoulder. Harry could feel Draco's shallow breath against the skin of his neck.

Harry cut his eyes to Ron, whose body was squared into a formidable stance. "Ron." He tried to remain calm, but he found himself seething. "The Auror Department could get into serious trouble for this."

Ron ignored this; his fury blended with astonishment as he dropped his wand to a half-raised position. "I can't believe you would hurt her like that, Harry - and with _this_ wanker, of all people! And now here you are, just _moments_ after your family left you, in his manky arms again - you unbelievable prick."

Harry flashed a glare at Ron before wrapping a protective arm around Draco and lowering him to the floor. "It wasn't what you thought, Ron," he hissed through gritted teeth. "Now, what exactly did you _do_ to him?"

Ron finally wavered as his scarlet eyebrows drew in uncertainty. At last he lowered his wand and turned his consideration to Draco, lifeless and bleeding.

"I'm not sure," he admitted, swallowing. "When I found you with him, I just sort of - went into a rage, pointed my wand...blimey..."

"Never mind," Harry snapped. He cast a Levitation Charm on Draco's body and drew it toward the door. "We've got to get Malfoy to St. Mungo's. Help me, and I'll - I'll try to explain."


	8. From Ancient Grudge

Chapter Eight: From Ancient Grudge

Heavy chains dug into Draco's arms and legs as they coiled like snakes, fixing him to a throne-like seat in the center of the formidable courtroom. Seated on the bench above him were fifty Wizengamot members, the embroidered silver W's on their chests occasionally catching the dim light of the Ministry dungeons as they shifted and murmured. Some members curled their lips at him as if he were a nasty substance cemented to their shoes, while others merely struggled to stifle yawns after a very long day. Of course, he was only vaguely aware of all of this, mind foggy and broken as it was from a month spent languishing in a sepulchral Azkaban cell.

The interim Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt rested his chin on the heel of his great hand and trained his dark eyes on Draco. To his left, Chief Warlock Elphias Doge arranged a stack of parchment on the podium before him and drawled, "Next, Draco Lucius Malfoy. Alleged crimes: treason, use of the Cruciatus Curse, use of the Imperius Curse, acting as an accomplice in the murder of Albus Dumbledore..."

Draco shivered, blinking hard at his shoes while Doge droned on. Before the war, he might have attempted to retain some dignity by raising his chin and meeting each gaze in turn - that was when he had been under the naive impression that the Malfoy name had meant something great. But the truth had begun to creep in somewhere in his sixth year: the Malfoy name meant nothing - absolutely nothing - but enslavement to the Dark Lord. Draco's dignity had been false, an illusion - or if it _had_ existed before, it was certainly obliterated by now. How could he have any dignity left when his life no longer belonged to him? Ever since the day the Dark Mark was burned into his flesh, he was Voldemort's. And then even the Dark Lord's destruction had only passed his life into the Wizengamot's merciless hands. He shuddered with blood-curdling fear of being thrown back into Azkaban, a place he could not imagine being any more clement than Hell itself...

"Revered members of the Wizengamot: Mr. Harry Potter has requested to speak."

Draco wondered if his ringing ears had heard rightly. He raised questioning eyes to the wizards and witches above him. Muttering amongst themselves, they turned collectively towards a wiry, bespectacled, exhausted-looking boy sitting off to the side.

He was gripped by fresh dread; if Harry Potter was here to testify, he was certainly condemned.

He numbly counted the rather numerous wrongs he had committed toward The Boy Who Lived. He'd attempted to murder his favorite professor. He'd looked Harry straight in the eye and mocked Cedric Diggory, mocked Harry's dead mother. He'd broken his nose with his boot and left him to bleed on the Hogwarts Express. He'd aided certain - individuals - who wanted Harry dead. And all this in conjunction with years of bitter rivalry, of petty slights against Potter and his friends.

Draco searched Harry's face through the mental fog, but he could not decipher the boy's expression. Harry didn't look at him, just abruptly stood and began to speak. Draco braced himself.

"I want it to be noted that I believe every criminal action Draco Malfoy performed was carried out under threat of harm to his family." His words were clear, rehearsed. "In addition, many of his crimes were committed as an underage wizard who merely believed he was doing right by his parents' wishes. Of course the court is already aware of the Malfoy family's defection to our side before the end of the war and of Narcissa Malfoy's pivotal act of bravery. I'll just reiterate that. That will be all."

Harry returned heavily to his seat, as if uttering the testimony had depleted his already dwindling energy stores. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes hard.

Draco didn't believe his eyebrows could elevate much higher. He couldn't stop shaking his head. _The ever-noble Potter does it again,_ he thought sardonically, _no doubt emulating his late mentor by offering to save my soul. He's such a…such a..._

 _...Hero._

 _And if he_ is _a hero, then perhaps I'm a coward, after all._

Harry's brilliant eyes finally caught hold of Draco's for half a moment and, much to Draco's astonishment, wrenched from his chest a sudden, heavy sob. He bit it back and quickly dropped his head, afraid to look up and see if Potter had noticed. As he closed his eyes, ardently willing his tears to vanish before they could escape onto his cheeks, he thought briefly of his father - what would he think if he saw his son in this state? But the thought drifted into oblivion as he realized that he no longer cared.

* * *

Draco wasn't certain if it was Potter's testimony, the Malfoys' cooperation, or Lucius's offer of monetary reparations that cinched it, but Draco and his parents found themselves granted with near-impunity. Of course, there were a few conditions - a search and seizure on the Manor, close surveillance on all three Malfoys for the next five years, and Draco's permanent expulsion from Hogwarts - but these were small prices to pay.

Draco protested that he didn't much need to finish his schooling anyway, having already gained more firsthand knowledge than most wizards his age, but Narcissa ignored him and hired a staff of private tutors. They turned out to be his only company besides his mother and father. Vincent was dead, Gregory was in Azkaban, Pansy's family had left the country, and Blaise refused to speak to him. He'd lost track of the others.

He was, of course, unsurprised when the front page of the Daily Prophet informed him that Granger had decided to return to Hogwarts for her N.E.W.T.s while Weasley and Potter had instead opted to enter Auror training. After scanning the page a bit with a sour expression, he unthinkingly slipped the issue into the drawer of the desk in his bedroom.

The next issue featured an exclusive interview with Potter, including his explanation of Voldemort's ultimate downfall. After snorting at Potter's frequent references to the power of love, Draco reread the bit mentioning his own name (in relation to the Elder Wand) several times before tucking that paper into his desk drawer as well.

Soon he found himself seeking out previous issues of the Prophet detailing the Death Eater trials and Potter's involvement in them, most interestingly in the Malfoys' case. Into the desk drawer they went. For some reason, he continued to save every Prophet that mentioned Potter, which were many.

One day he read that Potter, Granger, Weasley, and Longbottom were to be featured on their own Chocolate Frog cards. He inexplicably purchased dozens of them and opened them one by one until he found Potter's. He clutched the card and stared down at it, indifferent to the many rampant chocolate frogs now hopping around his room.

When the first biography about Potter, _Harry Potter: The Story Behind the Hero,_ hit the shelves, Draco was one of the first to purchase it. It was frustratingly sparse - Potter had apparently told the biographer to fuck off, more or less, so she'd had to speculate about his past a great deal.

Draco amassed more and more Potter memorabilia, stuffing these dark and terrible secrets deeply inside his desk drawer. He installed a magical lock on it that only he could open, and he did so only at a time of night when he was sure he wouldn't be discovered.

Meanwhile his sleep was nightly invaded by the ghosts of Severus, Dumbledore, Aunt Bellatrix, and especially Lord Voldemort himself; he awoke every night shaking and drenched in sweat. But there was something else in his dreams just as, if not more, disturbing - the relentless omnipresence of Potter, Golden Boy Harry Potter who really was this stupid martyr figure, this hero that Draco would never be and who'd never had any use for Draco.

Although Draco could fight off sleep for a night, almost two, his fevered mind always betrayed him eventually. He'd plummet into the nightmare world where Harry would pin him with cold eyes while stonily recanting his testimony on the grounds that Draco was in fact a deplorable human being undeserving of the freedom he'd been granted.

Dreams such as these would coalesce into dreams of Harry in their first year, scorning Draco's innocent offer of friendship, his rejection like a face-slap forcing the stunning realization that it was possible for Draco _not_ to get something he wanted - and triggering in him an all-consuming hunger for revenge.

After waking to yet again discover in horror that his eyelashes wet with tears, Draco growled furiously and beat his pillow. If only Potter had bestowed his apparently god-like understanding and forgiveness upon him when they were younger, then perhaps Draco wouldn't have ended up like _this_. Perhaps he would have been persuaded to the right side years ago.

He thought again and again of his sixth year, of his failed attempts on Albus Dumbledore's life that he now doubted were even attempts at all. He thought painfully of the terror knowing that his parents' lives were gripped in the claws of the volatile Dark Lord, that any wrong move could spell their death. He remembered how he had fought to stamp out a stubborn glimmer of hope that someone would finally catch on, stop him, fix this horrible mess, and save his parents...someone like Harry Potter.

Many nights he dreamed of the dead. Their cold, wide eyes stared up at him in disbelief at what he'd done, Draco the Death Eater. He saw Vincent burn in the Room of Requirement. He felt the heat of the Fiendfyre as he clung pathetically to Harry, his rescuer, and madly wondered if he would have done the same for him. He saw Harry saving him from an angry Death Eater before he felt the blinding smack of Weasley's fist in his face. Why did the prat always have to go around saving people?

One glaring morning, after a particularly difficult night, Draco awoke to his eagle owl dropping the newest issue of the Daily Prophet onto his chest. Draco grunted and unrolled it, then stared blearily at the front page.

"Harry Potter and Ginevra Weasley to Be Married."

Draco blinked and sat up, snapped back to the waking world. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. Yes, he'd read correctly. Beneath the headline was a moving photograph of Harry and Ginny Weasley. They seemed to be attempting to dodge the press. Draco fastened his eyes on the furtively pleased expression replacing Harry's usual harassed one. Leading him by the hand was Ginny Weasley, who was shielding her smiling face with the other hand. Draco noted a rather large ring on her finger.

Draco stared at this photograph, and then at the headline again, and then back at the photograph. He felt...strange.

Suddenly drained, he slowly settled back beneath the covers. He turned his head and cast a perplexed stare through his window at the morning sky, tracking the sun as it climbed all the way to its zenith. At some point his mother knocked lightly on his door and asked him when he might emerge from his bedroom. He barely registered the muffled tones, edged with tender concern, before dropping back into a disturbing dreamworld.

This time he dreamt about that damn ring. About Harry kneeling and offering it to him instead. About touching Harry's face, running his fingers through his hair...

He was gripped by these dreams well into that night and then the next, hardly ever leaving his room while his mother hovered about anxiously. Whenever the waking world would tear him from Potter's oneiric arms, he'd frantically growl and bury his burning face deep into his pillows, thoroughly disgusted with himself. Now he was just like the rest of them, just like all the other inane, ridiculous admirers of the legendary Harry Potter.

At last, after waking from a particularly excruciating dream where his body had been pressed close to Harry's, where he'd seized the eyeglasses from the boy's face and kissed him deeply, furiously, clawing the skin of Harry's back, he awoke in a rage, choking as he snatched up his wand and blasted his desk drawer open, blew its contents into the air, and burned every last memento, every account of Harry James Potter that he'd so painstakingly collected, because none of them ever satisfied him, nothing had _ever_ satisfied him -

Hearing his cries, his mother burst into the room, her eyes flashing with alarm when she perceived the wild expression on Draco's face. His fury instantly cooled as he realized he was upsetting her, and he lowered his wand. He stared dully down at the half-burned items fluttering to the floor, passing trembling fingers through his disheveled hair. A moment later, he felt her firm arms envelop him, felt her cool cheek press against his, was lulled by her gentle murmuring.

* * *

Draco comprehended that he needed to get a grip on himself and to try to move on. What he required was a plan, a distraction.

He commenced a search for academic programs centering on Potions, his curiosity tending to gravitate toward the subject of alchemy. Soon he found a renowned alchemy program in Paris, which he decided was sufficiently far away. He spent the few months following his acceptance eagerly preparing, devouring every book on alchemy he could get his hands on.

He began drinking a Dreamless Sleep Draught to stave off the nightmares, something he hadn't allowed himself to do before; however, this had the troublesome counter-effect of intensifying his daydreams. Whenever he caught himself slipping into fantasies of seeing Harry, pulling him into a soul-shattering kiss, even dropping to one knee and begging him not to marry Ginny Weasley, he struggled and even employed Occlumency to tuck these images safely away. Eventually he got better, indeed rather good, at suppressing these pesky thoughts.

Finally, a week before he was due to leave for France, he decided he'd gained enough confidence to venture out from the safety of the Manor and into Diagon Alley for school supplies. He threw on a crisp black robe, groomed himself to perfection (the dark circles under his eyes had even gone), and tossed a handful of Floo powder into his blazing bedroom fireplace, uttering "Diagon Alley" very clearly.

His boots gracefully touched down before the crackling fireplace at Amanuensis Quills, and he dusted the soot off his robes before stepping over to examine each quill. The little shop was fairly busy; many new and returning Hogwarts students were ambling through the cobblestone roads of Diagon Alley, Hogwarts lists clutched in their untainted hands. Draco quickly chose two shapely raven quills and carried them to the clerk, a thin old woman who eyed Draco suspiciously over thick spectacles. Draco wondered uneasily if she perhaps recognized him from the papers, and he subconsciously pulled his sleeve farther down his left forearm.

"Just - I'd like to purchase these quills, if I may get on with it."

The clerk tutted and shook her head disapprovingly, then at last took the coins from Draco's outstretched hand. Too flustered to roll his eyes at her, he hurried through the door and almost right into Harry Potter.

 _Harry Potter._

Every nerve in Draco's body galvanized as he froze, eyes wide and limbs poised like a spooked deer. Harry had apparently just exited Madam Malkin's next door, holding a neatly tied brown paper package under his arm. When he looked up and noticed Draco, he immediately squared into something like a fighting stance, probably out of habit.

As seconds stretched with Draco just staring at him, Harry's eyebrow gradually arched. He was of course unaware that Draco was presently seized by a flurry of images of Harry as a scowling eleven-year-old, as a blur on a broomstick, as the Gryffindor seeker charging for the Snitch, as a Triwizard champion, as a war hero, as a picture in the Prophet, as a dream. Draco thought of the obsessive fantasies and about his pathetic urge to plead for the Chosen One's forgiveness. He shuffled through his mind every detailed imagining of how this very scenario might have unfolded. But, most achingly, he remembered that photograph of Harry and Ginny Weasley stealing away from the press, concealing elated smiles like clandestine lovers as Ginny flashed her engagement ring.

Draco at last cleared his throat and stood straight, attempting to wash his face of any damning signal. Harry held his gaze steadily, apparently waiting for the Slytherin to speak first.

Draco's breaths were quick and shallow as he dipped his chin in a curt nod.

"Potter."

Harry drew his inky eyebrows together and waited. When Draco simply continued to look coolly at him, he returned the nod just as curtly.

"Malfoy."

And they went their separate ways.

* * *

Draco experienced what he could only describe as the time of his life in Paris. He became a distinguished scholar even while frequently hosting lavish parties in his rented château, which attracted a diverse array of people. Following a string of short-lived relationships with both men and women, he finally met Astoria after recognizing her at a party. They immediately connected, sharing with each other their newfound rejections of blood politics, painful memories about the war, difficult confessions, and comfortable laughter.

Following Draco's thesis defense they returned to England together, and Draco proposed to Astoria soon after. When he read about Harry and Ginny's marriage in the Prophet, Draco only felt a momentary twinge before chucking the paper into a nearby waste bin. He was no longer going to think about Harry Potter.

* * *

Blinding light and a heavy fog wrapped Draco's brain as he blinked awake. He outstretched heavy arms and clumsily felt through the haze for anything familiar. His left hand soon landed against something soft, like a cheek. He turned his head to the left and, after blinking a bit, beheld Astoria's face, angelic in the glow of the bright light. Gradually the image of Scorpius's face materialized beside hers.

Astoria gazed down at Draco and smiled as she gingerly smoothed his disarranged hair. She was quite surprised when she noticed that his eyes had begun to mist over with tears; she hadn't seen Draco cry in years.

"I'm here," she cooed with mounting concern, but she soon calmed when she remembered that the Healers had warned her of the healing potions' side effects. She was nevertheless unnerved when Draco sobbed and entangled his fingers into the long locks of her hair, seeming quite disoriented. She glanced around for a Healer, but none were at hand.

"Harry Potter," Draco finally choked. "It's always been Harry Potter. Thought I'd left him behind, but no - he's come back to punish me once again - reduce me to pieces over him _again_. Stupid, maddening, bloody beautiful git must've marked me years ago - and I can't even be sure exactly _when_."

Astoria's troubled eyes flickered to the doorway before she pressed his hand against her cheek. She tried to soothe him, murmuring and stroking his hair, but steady tears continued to flow from his unfocused eyes. He turned his drunken attention to a very concerned-looking Scorpius and cradled his son's face in his other hand. His eyes passed over the boy's angular features fondly as his heart swelled with pride.

"Our son," he slurred, "Is so much braver than I am, Astoria. That must be your doing."

Scorpius squeezed his father's hand, searching his face intently. Astoria leaned forward, kissing the top of his head and wiping his tears away as he drifted back into unconsciousness. For a while, she pensively considered his sleeping face. Then she sighed, sat back up, and wrapped an arm around Scorpius. "Well," she chuckled wistfully, uncertainly. "There you have it, Harry."

Harry Potter stood deathly still in the doorway, eyes round and face completely drained of color.


	9. Nerve

_Hello all, obsidiancurrents here, welcoming you to the ninth and final chapter of Like Father, Like Son._

 _Much love to avid reader, Kigen Dawn, Albox117, AKTF-0729, SimbaRella, Ern Ernstine 13624, Linda, Buford the Table, Blakely Evans, Valjean Lestrange, and anyone else who read, reviewed, favorited, or followed this weird little fic. Many thanks for the encouragement._

 _Expect more from me, and feel free to write me with critiques for this here fic as well as prompts and suggestions for future stories._

* * *

Chapter Nine: Nerve

"No bloody way."

"I was aghast myself."

"He really confessed to being _in love with my dad_?"

"Er - well, not in those _exact_ words..."

Scorpius and Albus stretched out in the grass, watching the swollen clouds above drift lazily through the afternoon sky and toward the horizon. Upon hearing a sigh from his right, Scorpius turned his head to study Albus. The azure sky had lacquered Albus's eyes with a turquoise sheen; their glassy surface caught the sharp reflection of an amorphous cloud as Albus stared heavenward, his eyebrows lowered in deep contemplation. The opalescence of his eyes was harshly offset by the deep shadows and anxious lines in the skin surrounding them, and it dawned on Scorpius that, as exhausted as he himself was, the toll exacted on him by his father's illness in these past weeks was probably trivial compared to the impact of Harry's infidelity on Albus.

He propped himself up on his elbow and bit his lip. "Listen, Al."

Albus tore himself from his brooding and gazed up at Scorpius with a neutral expression.

Scorpius sighed. "I've been such a prat for these past few weeks, neglecting you like that. I should have never let our families' mistakes come between us, or gotten so preoccupied with helping my mum look after my dad. I should have reached out to you more, much more. I'm sorry."

Albus rolled onto his side and propped his chin on his hand as he surveyed Scorpius's imploring face. "I'm sorry, too," he said slowly. "I wanted to see you, but my life's been mad lately as well. I'm sorry for saying all those vicious things about your dad before, and for defending Ron. Your dad...he didn't deserve that curse Ron threw." He smiled weakly at Scorpius. "I'm just grateful your parents aren't suing."

Scorpius nodded at Albus with a warm smile. "No worries, kid."

Albus dropped his gaze and played with a blade of grass, suddenly shy. "I've missed you, Scorpius."

He barely had time to look up again before Scorpius had him captured in a deep, leisurely kiss. When he finally pulled away, Albus's face was flushed with red, just the way Scorpius liked it. Scorpius laughed softly and offered him a cool hand.

Albus pressed it against his burning cheek, then swallowed. "How - how _is_ your dad, by the way?"

"Much better."

Albus relaxed against Scorpius's hand with a sigh of relief. "That's good."

Scorpius lazily combed his fingers through Albus's hair. "What about you? What has it been like at the Potters'?"

At this Albus looked Scorpius dead in the eye. "You wouldn't believe it, Scorpius. My mum's been _dating._ "

"Dating! Who?"

"A couple of different blokes. She seems to be having a blast, actually." A dark look clouded his features. "And the bizarre thing is, we're all living at home - we only stayed at the Weasleys' for a couple of nights - so Mum's been seeing these new boyfriends of hers right under Dad's nose."

Scorpius raised his eyebrows. "And how does your dad feel about that?"

Albus shrugged. "Can't tell. I haven't spoken to either of them much. Sometimes I hear them fighting. Other times I hear them _laughing_ , as if this is all some funny joke." He shook his head in disbelief. "Sometimes it actually seems like they're getting on better now than they used to."

"That _is_ bizarre..." Scorpius trailed off as he pondered the situation. "Do you want them to stay together?"

Albus reflected before sighing heavily. "Can't tell," he repeated.

Scorpius eyed Albus's fingers as they returned to toying with that blade of grass. Albus gently prodded a small ant that was scurrying up the blade and drew his eyebrows. "I just never saw anything like this coming," he muttered. "I mean, I never thought Dad would...would..."

"Go gay?"

"Go gay, yeah."

"I dunno," Scorpius drawled, smiling slyly at Albus. "I think I may have detected a distinct... _aroma_ about him, if you will..."

Albus looked up at him skeptically, the corner of his mouth upturning in spite of himself. "A poofy aroma?"

"That's it," Scorpius said, snapping his fingers. "A poofy aroma. Must run in the family."

"Do _I_ smell poofy?"

"Oh yes."

Albus laughed, a sound that Scorpius savored. "Bugger off." He punched Scorpius on the shoulder. "You had no idea about me for years. Otherwise you would've made a move on me sooner."

Scorpius tried his best to look affronted. "I was waiting for the opportune _time_ , my dear Gryffindor."

Chuckling, Albus fell back against the cool grass. He closed his eyes and felt the breeze drift over him, bringing with it some relief from the summer heat.

Unseen by Albus, Scorpius's smile melted into an expression of deliberation. Long moments dawdled by before Scorpius finally opened his mouth to give shape to his thoughts. "You know..." he began, then hesitated.

Albus opened one eye to peer curiously at him.

Taking courage, Scorpius pushed on. "It was this one day, in Potions class," he said slowly. "You were working beside me with that look on your face - you know, that extremely endearing look of concentration you get when you - anyway, I was just sort of, er, watching you. I didn't think you would notice, but then you suddenly looked right up at me and caught me staring. I thought you would flinch away and think I was strange after that or something. But you just looked right back at me, and you gave me this knowing smile...and that was the moment. That was when I decided I just had to _do_ something about you."

Just when Albus had thought he'd rid himself of his blush, it sprang to his cheeks once again. He glanced over at Scorpius, but the boy's eyes were fixed on the clouds.

"My dad told me something when he was in hospital," Scorpius went on. "He told me he thought I was brave. But I'm not." His head turned. Silver eyes caught green. "It's you, Al. You make me feel brave."

Albus's lips parted as he searched Scorpius's face, which was open in a rare moment of vulnerability. His hand jutted through the grass to find Scorpius's.

"That's _exactly_ how I feel about you," he breathed.

* * *

Draco Malfoy once again hunched over the desk in his study, reading the most long-winded and difficult text he could locate amongst his bookcases. Suddenly the words began to swim before his eyes, then his vision went momentarily dark. It still frightened him a bit when that happened, but thankfully it was occurring less and less often. He remembered the Healers' assurance that, if he continued to take his prescribed potions for just a few more days, the effects of Ron Weasley's rage-filled Stunner should dissipate completely, leaving his much-abused brain good as new.

"Draco?"

His sight once more granted to him, Draco twisted in his chair to rest his eyes on Astoria, who was leaning in the doorway with her handbag slung over her shoulder. These days, for whatever reason, he preferred to keep his study door open.

His wife stepped inside. Draco laid his reading glasses on the desk and rose to meet her. "Yes, Astoria?"

"How are you feeling, dear?"

"All right."

"How are the headaches?"

"Diminishing."

Relief smoothed out her features, and she placed a hand against his cheek before kissing the opposite one. "I'm off to have dinner with Ginny."

"Right." Draco cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Come to think of it, you never did tell me why she asked to speak with you."

Astoria smiled a bit devilishly. "Apparently she's curious about a certain topic on which I happen to be knowledgable." When Draco looked perplexed, her mouth twitched. "Open marriages."

Draco's eyebrows soared.

"I told Hildy that you'll be needing dinner soon," Astoria said sweetly as she turned and began to walk out. "No telling when I'll be home."

Before she disappeared around the doorway, she cast him a breezy glance.

"Oh, and by the way - Harry Potter is in the drawing room."

* * *

Draco had wondered if this day would come. With an overpowering sense that he was marching to his doom, Draco followed Astoria into the drawing room as if in slow-motion. There, just as promised, stood the Famous Harry Potter, looking rather like he wasn't at all certain what he was doing there. When he noticed the two figures approaching, his gaze briefly alighted on Astoria before jumping to Draco and sticking on him like a magnet.

Astoria smiled warmly at Harry and addressed him, drawing his attention momentarily back to her. "Hello, Harry. Are you well?"

"Hello Astoria. Er - yeah, thanks. And you?"

"Quite well, thank you."

She glanced between the two men, who had returned once again to their stare-down. She coughed gently.

"Well, I'm off. Leave each other in one piece, won't you? Nice to finally see you, Harry."

And with one last knowing smile, she sauntered out.

The two men faced each other in silence, standing a few meters apart. Harry's eyes scanned Draco's body for signs of ill health as Draco steadied his cool gaze on the Auror's face, chin raised defiantly.

"How - " Harry coughed, began again. "How are you?"

As soon as Harry asked, he grimaced. Knowing Draco, he would say something scathing about Ron here, perhaps exaggerate his pain and milk it for all it was worth like he did when Buckbeak had scratched him in third year -

"I'm doing well. Nearly recovered," was Draco's curt reply.

Harry blinked at him like he was seeing Draco for the first time. He examined his wan face; although Draco stood straight and seemed healthy enough, Harry couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt when he noticed the darkness encircling his pale eyes.

"Look, I, erm, just wanted to let you know that Ron is sorry for what he did, even if he won't admit it. He just - lost control."

Draco nodded slightly before continuing to stare at Harry in silence.

"And, erm..." Harry coughed. "I also wanted to tell you that...that I'm sorry, as well. For blaming you entirely for - for what happened. I am the one who betrayed my family. I have to take responsibility for that."

After a tense pause, Draco simply nodded again, unable to speak. His heart palpitated heavily.

Harry returned the gesture, then shoved his hands into his pockets as he glanced around the room awkwardly. "I, er, wanted to ask you..."

Draco's heart beat louder, louder. Harry met his eyes.

"Do you remember anything you said in hospital?"

"No," Draco managed to spit out. "But...Astoria filled me in." He had wanted to counter with some biting remark that would squash Harry's questioning, but those few words were all he was able to muster. Now he could only hope that Harry would drop it on his own.

He didn't. In fact, he raised the stakes. "Well, er...did you mean it? What you said about me?"

Draco was glad Harry wasn't too close, or he might have heard Draco's breath catch in his throat. He wished vehemently that Harry hadn't asked that particular question. Even if he _wanted_ to tell Harry the truth, he was so accustomed to denying it now that he wasn't even certain it was physically _possible_ for him to do so. The truth was buried in a decades-old grave, and the dirt covering it was packed very tightly. But he'd buried it alive, and now it was struggling to reach out, to dig its desperate hands through the dirt - but to no avail.

Draco shook his head in the negative.

Harry set his jaw and nodded, dropping his gaze to the stone floor and jamming his hands farther into his pockets. Draco watched him with an odd mixture of triumph and regret.

Harry finally coughed, glanced back up at Draco, and forced a genial smile to his face. "Well, Draco Malfoy. I think it's time that we followed through with that truce you offered before, don't you? No more of this insanity between us, eh?"

Draco cocked his head. Harry was speaking to him like an old chap - what a curious feeling.

He almost instinctively leapt back when he noticed that Harry was striding nearer to him, closing the gap between them and thus increasing Draco's heartbeat.

Harry outstretched his hand and leveled an expectant gaze. "Shake on it?"

Draco stared down at the hand suspiciously, his scrambled mind sluggishly processing what Harry was requesting of him. Then, cautiously eyeing the good-natured expression on Harry's face, he slowly extended his arm and took Harry's hand in his.

Instead of shaking hands, both men just stood there looking dumbly at each other, their hands frozen in place. Draco's pulse pounded as he realized he was feeling Harry's skin against his once more, and that something like sweet, slow electricity was emanating from where their hands met and traveling up his arm. Without willing it to happen, Draco brushed his thumb lightly over the back of Harry's hand and was surprised to feel an unexpectedly rough patch of skin. Harry's eyes widened at the tenderness of his touch, but Draco didn't notice; he had dropped his gaze to Harry's hand and was rotating it to get a good look at its back. He perceived what looked remarkably like letters etched in gnarled scar tissue; when he finally made out the words, his heart stopped.

 _I must not tell lies._

Suddenly Harry's grip tightened, trapping Draco's hand in his. Draco stifled a gasp as Harry jerked him a bit towards him; his eyes involuntarily met Harry's smoldering gaze.

"There really is no one more infuriating than you," Harry growled. "Somehow I knew, I _knew_ you would always be a bloody thorn in my side, ever since I laid eyes on you in Diagon Alley - "

"So you _do_ remember Madam Malkin's," Draco pointed out thickly.

Harry gritted his teeth. "Of _course_ I remember Madam Malkin's - every bloody interaction with you stands out ever so _starkly_ in my mind, and it seems to me you haven't changed _one bit_ over the years." Somewhere, though, in the back of Harry's mind, this didn't feel _quite_ true; he remembered the uncharacteristically gentle expression on Draco's face as he'd lovingly caressed Astoria and Scorpius at St. Mungo's. Then again, Draco _had_ been high when he'd done that, so maybe it didn't count.

Draco's nostrils flared, and he firmly held up his chin even though he was absolutely shaking with the urge to run away. Not that he could, anyway, with Harry's vice-like grip fastening him in place. "As far as I can see, _you_ are the one who hasn't changed, Potter. At least not that temper or that thick skull of yours. You refuse to see how my family changed me, how the war changed me, how _you_ \- "

He cut himself off in horror, biting his lip firmly.

Harry shook his head, visibly willing himself to cool down but keeping Draco's hand locked. He met Draco's eye with a fierceness that made Draco's breath quicken.

"Draco, when I spoke to you again after all these years of silence, I _wanted_ to believe you were a changed man. You just didn't want to show me."

Draco swallowed and turned his face away. He heard something like shouting inside his head, muffled, as if coming from a deep grave...

"If of the two of us," he began desperately, " _I'm_ the only one who's going to have the courage to acknowledge what's _really_ going on between us, then I'm afraid _you've_ changed for the worse just as much as I've changed for the better - "

" _What_ , then?!" Harry shouted in exasperation, finally dropping Draco's hand to grip Draco's shoulders. "What _is_ really going on between us?"

Swallowing again, Draco closed his eyes against the intensity of the emerald glare. The truth was threatening to break out. It was thrashing through the dirt, burrowing to the surface...

"Draco."

Harry's voice was soft but dangerous. Draco reluctantly opened his eyes to meet the burning gaze.

"Answer me straight, once and for all. What the bloody hell do you want from me?"

Maybe it was the way Harry had used Draco's first name, injecting new life into its syllables with that mellifluous voice, or maybe it was the way that the heat from Harry's grip on his shoulders radiated out in intoxicating waves to consume Draco's entire body. All Draco knew was that he was succumbing, finally succumbing, as the truth obliterated its earthen prison...

"What do I want?" he breathed. His mind was suddenly sharp, focused. He stepped forward, grabbing Harry's face, knocking _him_ off-kilter for a change. " _I want all of you_."

A flicker in Harry's eyes was the only indication that he'd registered any word of what Draco had just said. He blinked slowly. "What are you...?"

"I want _all_ of you, Harry." The words sprang from Draco's tongue and floated in the air like feathers around him. Even his body seemed to be floating skyward, carried by a powerful wave of ecstasy and apprehension that could only be born of the awful truth.

Before Harry could react, Draco had wrenched his body close and landed his lips clumsily against his. He kissed him fully, eagerly, without restraint. His hands against Harry's cheeks dragged downward and forced the man's jaw open; every square centimeter of Draco's skin flared as he pushed his tongue against Harry's. Sheer euphoria overtook him; he raked his hands down Harry's chest and around to his shoulder blades; he pressed the man forcefully against him, giving himself up to madness...

Then he felt Harry push him gently away. As their mouths disconnected, Draco looked into his green eyes in a stupor, his jubilation ebbing as anxiety overtook him. What had he done? What had he _done?_

He made to pull away from Harry, but Harry held him fast. When he returned his confused gaze to Harry's face, he saw dimly that the man was thoughtfully considering him with dark eyes and a clenched jaw. Draco gritted his teeth against the dread that threatened to overcome him. Harry simply continued to drag his eyes excruciatingly slowly over Draco's face. When his gaze reached Draco's lips, Draco finally registered Harry's ragged breath, his rapid pulse...

Harry suddenly growled and returned his lips to Draco's with such enthusiasm that Draco almost cried out in relief. He clutched Draco roughly, gripped his shoulders, his arms, his waist. Draco smiled uncontrollably against Harry's lips, wild elation mingling with drunken smugness.

Harry grabbed him by the hair and grunted as he moved his mouth down to Draco's neck. The merciless bite he planted forced a small cry of pain from Draco's throat. The bliss that followed swept over Draco and prompted a half-gasp, half-laugh. "I must be a bloody masochist," he muttered.

Harry stopped and forced Draco to look into his eyes by a tug of his hair. The alarmingly evil smile twisting Harry's lips made Draco shiver.

"Good," Harry returned. "Because there are many, _many_ misdeeds to punish you for."

Draco hid his shock by narrowing his eyes. "Aha," he said more breathlessly than he intended. "I think I've realized something very intriguing about you."

Harry rolled his eyes and answered Draco with another melting, exquisitely brutal kiss. Draco squirmed, every cell in his body screaming in protest as he pushed Harry back a bit to look into his eyes once more. Harry raised an eyebrow at him as Draco bit his lip, wondering how to word his next question.

"So," he began awkwardly. "It seems you want me as well, Potter."

"Hmm. The evidence would suggest so."

"Then you're not going to fuck me and run away in horror like last time?"

Harry gazed pensively into Draco's eyes, detecting the faintest shadow of that pained look he had seen in them once before. He shook his head very slowly.

"No..." He faltered, then continued with more confidence. "I don't fully understand what the hell I'm doing with you. I can't predict what's going to happen with Ginny. But I do know that, for some inexplicable reason, I want to get to know you, Draco Malfoy. So I'm not going to run away anymore." The corner of his mouth twitched. "That is, until you give me another reason to."

Draco could hardly wait for Harry to finish before dragging him into another kiss, slower this time, more deliberate. He moved his tongue until he finally earned a moan from Harry. Then he pulled gently away again and victoriously drank in the positively _indecent_ expression on Harry's face.

"So," he said cordially. "Stay for dinner, Potter?"

Harry stared at him for a beat before treating him to the sound of his deep, vibrant laughter.

"Certainly."

And when they kissed again, nothing else existed.

 _The End._


End file.
